Take Her For A Spin
by certifiably
Summary: He looks like their friend. All the tests declare him to be the man they have come to know and depend upon. They know better. Whoever this man is, he is not Tony Stark.
1. Prologue

Concept blatantly stolen from an episode of _Supernatural_. The original concept of this was much more lighthearted. Then my penchant for angst and dealing horrible hands to my favorite characters came into play, and this happened. I won't lie. It's darker than my other stories. Plus, I usually attempt to keep my stories in a single character's POV. This time, I jumped from character to character, mostly focusing on Steve, Bruce, and Natasha. I'm not entirely certain how well it worked... Hopefully the story entertains either way.

Warnings: Deals with child abuse. Physical, emotional, and sexual and some of the possible results of these. Also, denial of personal rights. If this bothers you, I recommend not reading this story.

As always, I am only borrowing these characters for my own amusement. (Note: Set in the movie-verse, with only some comic/Saturday morning cartoon elements popping in here and there.)

* * *

They were eating pizza in the kitchen when it happened. Tony had claimed a need for the best pizza New York had to offer (an apparent craving after having been stuck in some small town in Oregon during a snowstorm for two days). He was celebrating his own return to civilization, and the rest of them just benefitted from it.

Sometimes it was good to be an Avenger living under Stark's roof.

Everyone was having a good time, Tony amusing them with tales of broken tie rods and back-country hicks.

"Almost literally a one-horse town," he declared. "Except I'm pretty sure there weren't any horses. Maybe a tractor. Shared between all the farms. They didn't even have wi-fi. If I didn't have the ability to connect to my own satellites, I may have gone into technological withdrawal. Seriously, even the caves of Afghanistan had more technology than this place."

"I'm amazed you survived," Rogers drawled, sarcasm heavy but smiling through it. Tony sneered at him good-naturedly.

"I am unfamiliar with this phrase: one-horse town," Thor declared. "Explain."

"It's a reference to a lack of mobility and wealth," Bruce offered. "Before motorized vehicles, we used horses. But horses were expensive to purchase and maintain."

"I see!" Thor smiled. "An impoverished town would have very few horses. Anthony is suggesting that this was a poor farming village."

"Suggesting is too weak a word," Tony said, reaching for a glass of water that may or may not have been his. "These people are one step out of the Wild West. None of them even knew who I was, which is kind of unheard of these days."

"This is true," Clint entered the room, still dressed in battle gear, and grabbed a slice of pizza. Natasha was on his heels, much the same and equally ravenous. "Considering all the texts you sent Bruce, I'm amazed you've returned to us mostly sane."

"Sane might be pushing it," Bruce murmured, smirking when Tony retaliated by shoving at his shoulder.

The conversation changed to the mission from which Natasha and Clint had just returned. Steve found a case of beer in the industrial sized refrigerator (installed after Tony declared his tower a home for the Avengers) and passed them out. Most of them were so accustomed to the effects of the minimal amount of alcohol in the drink that there was not so much as a buzz to look forward to, but they all drank anyway. It was more a sense of camaraderie that had them sharing the sharp drink.

They had minimal warning that the following couple of weeks were going to be challenging, but it happened around the time they were all cracking open their drinks.

One drink fell, and then a second. The pungent aroma of beer filled the air, even as the group turned as one, sharp eyes taking in a distressing scene.

Tony's drink had been the first to fall. Standing right beside him, Bruce had immediately released his beverage in favor of grabbing at his staggering friend. Everyone else was on their feet in an instant, hovering, waiting to see what had caused Tony to suddenly clutch at his head as though in pain.

His face did not reflect hurt. There was, however, a strong sense of confusion and a bit of alarm.

"Tony?" Bruce demanded, easing closer to take some of Tony's weight in an effort to keep him upright. It wasn't really working. Tony's knees buckled, and he slipped down despite Bruce's efforts.

"Something isn't right," Tony murmured. His brow creased, eyes blurring as he turned, looking through Steve. "Where the hell…?"

"Tony, I need you to tell me what's happening," Bruce demanded. The other man was on his knees by this point, held there by the grace of Bruce's strength. Steve soon joined him, and Bruce was feeling the billionaire's face, seeking anything—Tony's attention, his temperature, a sense of his general wellbeing.

Tony blinked rapidly, visibly struggling to remain conscious and to focus on his surroundings. Bruce rested a hand over the arc reactor, feeling the soft hum of energy and hoping to god it wasn't causing this.

"Anthony, you would do well to answer us," Thor said, his concern displayed in a fit of sternness.

"Listen to the big guy, Stark," Clint suggested, sounding a little anxious himself. "Jesus, Doc. What the hell is this?"

"I don't know," Bruce said, completely helpless. He gave Tony a light shake. "Come on, Tony. Back with us."

Tony gave a soft huff, a sound of wry amusement, and he blinked dumbly at Bruce. His eyes drifted shut. He looked as though he was reaching the end of a three-day bout of insomnia, despite the fact that only a minute ago he had been as manic and alert as ever. The exhaustion was not unfamiliar. The sudden onset was.

Then, Tony smiled, faint and relieved.

"It worked," he murmured, his voice soft and, truth be told, a little too high. Bruce frowned and searched the pale face for any explanation as to this bizarre behavior. But there was no apparent reason for the way Tony's face suddenly crumpled, nor for the low, breathy sob he gave. "It worked."

There would be no illumination that evening. Tony choked out another soft cry, and then he went completely lax.

"What the hell?" Clint demanded. "Did he just faint?"

Bruce eased the man to his back on the floor, then set about checking vitals. Tony seemed fine. He was going to need to run some tests to be sure.

"It looks like exhaustion," Bruce said, puzzled by this fact. "Help me get him to medical."


	2. Chapter 1

Warnings: Nothing much yet. Allusions toward potential abuse.

No beta, as usual, so I apologize in advance for any glaring mistakes.

* * *

There was something wrong with Tony Stark. Normally Clint and Natasha would toss around jests that there had always been something wrong with Stark, and under normal circumstances Bruce and Steve would exchange wry grins and agree. (Thor had never understood the finer points of sarcasm, and would inquire as to the man's deficiencies. He was never given an answer.)

This time, no one joked. They just watched the surveillance footage grimly, watching as Virginia "Pepper" Potts spoke quietly with the patient in the medical wing, attempting to draw him into deeper conversation. Natasha stood guard just inside the door, quietly monitoring the situation from within while everyone else observed from without.

Upon waking, Tony had not reacted particularly well to any of the Avengers. Neither had he reacted well to the arc reactor embedded in his chest. He had, in fact, panicked at the technology, seeking out Bruce (who he had mistaken for a medical doctor—his doctor) and demanding to know what it was.

Rogers had suggested amnesia, so they investigated that angle. It was like nothing Bruce had ever seen. Memory loss occurred for any number of reasons. Injury. Psychological trauma. Alzheimer's. Never had he seen anyone simply lose years off their life while eating pizza. The alcohol had not even come into play. True, he had been on a business trip for the past week, but he had given no hint as to anything sinister happening to him. There were only complaints about the lacking internet access and ensuing boredom. Even then, the onset was too late and too abrupt.

"He doesn't know her either," Clint muttered. "Not to rain on your parade, Captain, but I'm pretty sure this isn't how amnesia works."

"Why would Captain Rogers' theory be so incorrect?" Thor inquired, a low thread of anxiety running through his voice as he considered their friend on the monitors. "Anthony does not remember us. That is a symptom of this amnesia, is it not?"

"It's a possible theory," Bruce murmured. He had set up multiple blood tests in the lab and was waiting for the results to come back while poring over Tony's medical chart in attempt to find some discrepancy that would explain the man's sudden confusion. He pulled out his phone and shot off a detailed text to Natasha. "The human brain is full of uncharted territory. It is, quite literally, an unsolved mystery. We have learned a lot, but oftentimes we just can't explain why it does what it does."

"I knew a guy who nearly had his brains blown out," Clint offered. "Total amnesia. He had to relearn how to do everything—including walking and using the can. Used to be fluent in four languages. Now he can barely get through the basics of English."

Steve winced. Bruce glanced at him but said nothing. As their leader, Rogers was taking this hard. Ever since their first near-disastrous mission together, the Captain had been protective of all of them in various ways. Tony was a special case, and Bruce blamed it on his near-death experience and Steve's inability to think the billionaire capable of taking care of himself outside of the Iron Man armor. (While sometimes that was true, even Bruce had to admit that Steve sometimes went overboard with his protective streak.)

"Sometimes the human mind can wipe out years of memories," Bruce explained rather than pander to Steve's guilty conscience. There really was no way any of them could have predicted this. Even if they had, they had no way of knowing how they could have prevented it. "Sometimes just certain events. Often it creates a personality change—which we're seeing here."

The personality change was what had struck them hardest. Their Stark was brash and sharp-tongued, almost completely shameless and desperately refusing to show a fear of anything. The man speaking to Pepper now was quiet and wary. He cringed when anyone tried to touch him and showed absolutely no interest in any of the items Pepper had brought him—his own technology, with which he was rarely long separated.

"What is it that makes Captain Rogers' theory unsound?" Thor inquired.

Bruce looked up at the monitor and considering the man huddled on the hospital bed. Tony was upright now, which was a good thing, but he was positioned defensively, all but crouching on the mattress, ready to flee. Natasha had joined Pepper beside his bed and was holding out her phone. Tony's eyes flicked over the tech, but he quickly turned away, looking up at the woman warily. Natasha lowered the phone and glanced up at the camera, offering a minute head shake.

"I just had Natasha show him a simple mathematical equation," Bruce murmured. "He can't solve it."

Clint looked at him sharply.

"Even if he regressed back to childhood, Tony had prodigal level math skills," Bruce continued. "From what I understand, he was able to do advanced mathematics when most children were figuring out that one plus one equaled two. He should have been able to solve that problem."

Now even Steve was watching him.

"What are you suggesting, Doctor?"

"I want to consult with Natasha on this, but we may be looking at a fugue state," Bruce said uneasily. "It's another way the brain copes with trauma. People have been known to lose years of their lives. Putting it in simple, not entirely accurate terms, it's like another personality takes charge while the person retreats into his own psyche. I just don't understand what could have brought this on."

"As traumatic as dinner with us can be, Stark has been through much worse and come out fine for it," Clint agreed. "What do you think we should do?"

"Nothing."

All eyes turned on Rogers, who had just made the unlikely call. Steve tore his eyes from the monitor with obvious reluctance, meeting Bruce's frown wearily. Eight hours of this had made all of them irritable.

"We can't do anything until we have all the facts," Steve said finally. "You said it, Bruce. We're in uncharted waters here. See what Miss Potts and Natasha have to say, and we'll go from there. I'll have Jarvis lock down the Iron Man suits until further notice."

The order left them all feeling a bit ill, but no one protested. It was the call that needed to be made, no matter how any of them felt about it. Bruce just hoped they could figure this out quickly. That person in the hospital bed—that man with Tony's face and the arc reactor implanted in his chest—was not the Tony Stark who had convinced Bruce into remaining within the confines of New York City, the most populous city in the country. That was not the man who could cajole the other guy into submission, for whom the other guy had an inexplicable fondness. Bruce was not sure what he would do if they lost Tony for any length of time.

* * *

Natasha was running tests on the man in SHIELD's hospital wing. They were not medical examinations, nor would they stand up to any scientific criticism, but they worked nonetheless.

While not particularly comfortable with normal human interaction, Natasha had always been an excellent actress. She had studied behavioral science and everyday human relations since she was a child, and she was good at blending into new environments using what she observed of the people around her.

This also made her an excellent judge of character. She could spend a day with a person and have a good hold on their moral compass. Another day, and she was able to determine many of their likes, dislikes, and much of their history based on their general interactions with other people.

The only person who had ever given her trouble was, in fact, the man in front of her.

Natasha had taken several months to get a solid hold on Tony Stark's character. Agent Coulson had initially thought the man guilty of treason—sympathies turned during his time in Afghanistan as a result of some sense of Stockholm Syndrome. That opinion had changed after the Obadiah Stane incident. Months later, Natasha thought Stark was recklessly suicidal, until she discovered he was already dying. Then, she mistakenly believed him to be simply reckless.

But Stark always had a plan. No matter his situation, no matter how obnoxious he got, he was always thinking twelve steps ahead, reading opponents, business competitors, or psychopathic villains, and making a seemingly illogical leap. Natasha was finally forced to conclude that the man was just unreasonably smart and horrifically passionate. He threw his entire being into everything he did—work, the Avengers, Iron Man, even personal relationships. It was a wonder he hadn't had a mental breakdown years ago.

Part of her wanted to say that was all this was, but she knew Stark. He was not under any undue stress, certainly nothing that would cause a psychological break. There was a slight possibility that something had happened during his business trip, but Happy had been with him almost the entire time, and an interview with the driver who sometimes doubled as a rather incompetent bodyguard lent further proof that nothing untoward had occurred.

Which put Natasha in an awkward position. Because she was reading this man like a book, and it was confusing. She did not like what she was seeing. Not at all.

Fury had bullied his way into their meetings, no doubt feeling entitled due to their use of SHIELD's medical facilities. If they got through this intact, Natasha was going to have Pepper speak seriously with Stark about having a hospital wing installed in Avengers' Tower. Natasha did not mind Fury too much, but she knew what Stark would feel about him being involved with anything involving the billionaire's health. She also knew both Banner and Rogers were a little wary of any sort of SHIELD involvement since discovering their covert affairs.

"What have you found out?"

Fury started the meeting as he was accustomed to doing. Rogers' eyes narrowed, but he turned to Natasha anyway.

"Potts called Colonel Rhodes," she said to start. "Just in case—he has known Stark longer than anyone else. He should be here tomorrow morning."

"He's still not recognizing anyone?" Rogers asked wearily. Natasha felt bad for him. She had never met anyone so honestly concerned for so many people. Most of all his team. This was hitting him hard.

"No," she agreed.

"Banner says Stark can't do elementary math," Fury said grimly.

"That was elementary?" Natasha arched a brow at Banner, earning a wry smile.

"For him it was."

Rogers leaned over, and Natasha showed him the text Bruce had sent hours earlier. Banner offered an explanation when Rogers shot him a baffled look.

"It's a polynomial—basic algebra. Most kids learn it when they're eleven or twelve. Some later. Tony could have solved that when he was six."

Natasha put the phone down and pulled up a file from the computer display built into the table in front of her. Tapping the screen, she scattered the projection to the other seats. The others immediately bent to read the report.

"These are some of the things I've observed in my conversations with Stark," she said.

"'Hypertension, paranoia, generalized anxiety'," Clint snorted. "That sounds like a normal day."

Natasha glared at him, and he quickly bit his tongue and looked back to the report.

"'Inability to reason on an adult level'," Bruce murmured. "I would say that's also normal, but this is stretching it. Despite his immaturities, he's functioned in the adult world since he was at least—what? Seventeen? Eighteen?"

"Earlier, if you include his time at MIT," Fury muttered. "Romanov, are you serious about this?"

"Sir, I can't explain it," Natasha shrugged. "I know behavioral patterns when I see them."

"'Displays acute fear of men!'" Fury snarled. "We did an extensive background check on him, Romanov. If I'm not mistaken, you sketched out the initial report! There is no reason for Stark to be afraid of other men!"

"And yet he is," Natasha said flatly. "I am not explaining his behaviors, only stating that he displays them."

"Why would Tony be afraid of men?" Steve asked uneasily. "Could something have happened when he was in Afghanistan?"

"The physical done on Stark when he was brought back from the Middle East was thorough," Fury growled. "We know he didn't tell his interviewer everything, but we also know his injuries were limited to the shrapnel in his chest and the resulting surgeries. They were willing to scare him to get what they wanted, but they needed him functional. They would not have done anything to otherwise damage him."

"He's right," Bruce murmured. Natasha shot him a look that probably seemed more of a glare than an expression of gratitude. Still, she figured he got what she meant. "All together, this is implying a much longer history of abuse. If I were to look at this file, not knowing whose it was, I would actually guess it to belong to an adolescent in an abusive home."

Rogers' fist came down hard on the table. The impact and the sound of glass cracking, combined with the sight of it sheering across the table's surface toward Clint, had all of them jumping. For once, Steve did not look at all embarrassed by his lacking control of his strength. He looked far too angry to be bothered with that.

"Are you suggesting that Howard Stark abused Tony?" he asked, somehow keeping his voice even despite the righteous fury tightening his words. Fury looked uncomfortable, and rightfully so. Natasha kept her mouth shut. They all had their pasts, and she was not one to enjoy dredging up unpleasant childhoods. As far as she was concerned, Tony's childhood—or lack thereof—was his business.

Rogers, however, had been a friend to Tony's father during the second World War, and he was not going to take any aspersions cast on his character well, true or not. Nor was he going to allow this to pass without hearing something on the matter.

"If there was abuse in that household, it wasn't physical," Fury said finally, stiff and uncomfortable.

"That's…" Steve cast about for something to say that would not prompt a response he would dislike. It obviously was not working out for him. "You just sidestepped the question."

"Come on, Cap," Clint grunted. "You've seen him. He's fuckin' starved for attention. You think you get that way by living in a happy household? Stark's got more daddy issues than the rest of us combined."

Natasha actually suspected that Bruce was the winner of that particular award, but she said nothing. This was not the time to be bringing up the past for any of them. It was not even the time to be bringing up Tony's history, since none of it was actually relevant in the here and now.

"Stark was raised by a series of nannies before being shipped off to boarding school," Natasha said abruptly, intent upon bringing an end to this discussion. "The likelihood of parental physical abuse is almost nil because he had very little interaction with his parents. They were not great parenting material, but the one time a nanny was found to have stuck their child, the woman was immediately discharged and permanently barred from the profession. There is nothing in his history to explain the behavior Stark is currently displaying."

Rogers did not look pleased about this information, but he quieted and let the explanations continue.

"The question is: what is causing this behavior?" Fury declared. "Banner, I'm begging you not to give me some shit about multiple personalities."

Bruce sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest tensely.

"As we've already said, there's no reason for it," he said. "I'm sorry, Director, but without more data, I can only give you the what, not the why."

Fury's cheek twitched in a way that had both Natasha and Clint stiffening.

"Fine," the director snapped. "Then Iron Man is officially benched until you do figure it out."

"Pardon me, Director," Rogers said, stern authority rolling off him in near-tangible waves. Natasha did not smirk, but she was amused. "While I appreciate the use of your medical facilities and the discretion that comes with it, that is not your call to make. You do not command this team. I do."

Fury looked rather like he had taken a bite of an apple and discovered half a worm inside.

"Then take my advice—"

"I don't need to," Rogers replied. He rose, along with the rest of the team. "I appreciate your input. We won't be causing you any further problems. As soon as we have him cleared for release, we will be taking Tony and leaving SHIELD headquarters."

It was generally a good idea to keep on Captain America's good side, but that was not the reason they followed him from the conference room. Natasha shared a look with Clint, and stalked out of the room, close on Rogers' heels. Bruce was breathing in carefully measured increments, but he followed as well.

SHIELD was good for many things, all of them would admit. When it came to taking care of one of theirs, they preferred to do it themselves.

* * *

Note: So the running theory is that if I keep trying, eventually I'll get Thor's characterization down. Poor, _poor_ Thor. So much love for him and so much fail all at once...


	3. Chapter 2

**Note**: I chose not to go into all the details of questioning the character on time, date, place of birth, etc. It's all been done before. Maybe this plot has been done before on some level, but that whole deaging thing and kidfic (which I admittedly have read many and love several of them) has already put us through those paces, and I was not up for a rehash.

That being said, I hope this still makes some sense. I was banking on the team's later reactions to their friend being the method of explaining what's happening. If I've utterly failed, do tell, and I'll make attempts at fixing it.

* * *

Stark did not return to normal when brought home, although that would have been convenient. He did, however, rise to new levels of intolerability.

"Who the hell do you guys think you are, keeping me here against my will?" he snarled. He paced the length of the living room, glaring murder at anyone who dared approach him. "Miss Potts told me I own this place! I'm in charge!"

"Under normal circumstances that holds some modicum of truth," Bruce said. He and Clint were cleaning the disaster that remained of the kitchen. The floor was going to need a professional scouring, no thanks to the beer that had soaked into the porous stone over the course of twenty-four hours, and the pizza was well past recovery.

"Except for the part where you're in charge," Clint said, snide as ever. No one was liking this version of Stark, no matter his trauma. "Because when it comes to Avengers business, we all agree that Steve's better at being the leader with you as an advisor. Though now, I really don't want any of your advice."

"Screw you!" Tony retorted. "I can kick you all out! This is my home, right?"

"You may be the owner, but Miss Potts is the landlord," Bruce said mildly. "Also your second in command and power of attorney. She's running things until we figure out what to do with you."

"You can't keep me here!"

"Actually, we can." Steve swept into the room, looking tired and not a small bit frustrated. "You have been declared incapable of managing yourself. I've had Jarvis employ Directive Four, which means you're on lockdown, mister."

"Directive four?" Clint asked blankly.

"I am to use any means necessary to maintain Mr. Stark's continued health and safety," Jarvis helpfully explained. Clint grinned.

"Does that work for all of us?"

"That would be Directive Seventeen," Jarvis replied. "This was first employed when the Avengers moved into the tower."

"Whoa."

Bruce glanced over at Tony. The man was looking around in obvious confusion, bewildered by Jarvis as most newcomers were. It was one more strike against him as a competent member of the team. His attitude was tetchy on a good day. Today it was like dealing with a hormonal teenager.

"Rhodey's flight comes in at four," Pepper announced, walking into the room not long after Steve. She stopped several feet from Tony, considering him with the air of an impatient mother. "Can I trust you to behave until he arrives?"

"Fuck you," Tony replied, and they all flinched. Tony never swore at Pepper.

"I'll let the board know you won't be making the review tomorrow," Pepper plowed on, disregarding Tony's crude snarling. She had her phone out and was making notations rapidly. "Bruce, I trust you'll make sure he eats?"

"I'll do my best," Bruce said mildly.

"Please say you're coming back tomorrow," Clint asked desperately. He didn't even bother to lower his voice. "He is annoying."

Pepper shot him a weak smile and a nod before making a strategic retreat.

"Hey! You're the ones keeping me prisoner, asshole!"

"At least come up with some more creative insults, clone-boy!" Clint snapped back. "God, you're like an irritating, stupid version of him!"

"Let's not get childish now," Steve said in weak attempt to keep the room under control. It did not work.

"Smarter than you," Tony rejoined. "You still think I'm going to go away. Well I'm not, and you can't keep me here forever!"

"Actually, we really could," Bruce said coolly. "Jarvis has you on lockdown. Your computer doesn't need the rest you do. As long as he's active, you're not going anywhere."

Tony let out a shriek of rage Bruce had never thought him capable of producing. He also picked up the nearest object and flung it.

Steve's hand snatched the picture frame from midair, saving Bruce from what was sure to be a painful head wound and saving the tower from another Hulk incident. He set the item down gently on the counter—it was a photograph of Tony and Bruce, actually, a candid shot of them working on something in the lab. It was just one of a dozen pictures of the team set around the room.

"We won't be having any more of that," Steve declared calmly. "If you cannot behave, then you will be restricted to your quarters, where at the very least the only person you can harm is yourself. Thor?"

The demigod had been quiet since returning home, which was unusual for him. He had opted not to join the meeting in SHIELD, preferring to monitor Tony's room as a proud sentry. Now, he was silently watching, his eyes cool and narrow, unease seeping from every bit of his not-inconsiderably sized body.

"Steven is correct, young Anthony," Thor said finally. "Your behavior is most distressing. You should spend some time in reflection. Come along."

"You stay away from me," Tony warned, instantly backing away from the threat of a very large man approaching him. But Tony was not equipped to defend himself against the likes of Thor on a good day without his armor. Today, he was even less so, and it was made obvious when Thor caught his arm and the back of his shirt and hauled him shouting and struggling from the room.

"He seems to have gained some confidence in the past several hours," Natasha remarked, appearing out of nowhere as usual. It was interesting how quickly a person grew accustomed to this.

Bruce sighed again and noted that he had been doing an awful lot of that.

"I don't like what he said earlier," Steve said unhappily. "About him not going away."

Bruce had noticed the slip as well. This Tony was no Loki. It was obvious that his words were unplanned and had only the barest hint of strategy to them. It was rather like watching someone dull-minded rush headlong into an incomprehensible situation and attempt to bluff their way out. Tony might have managed it. This person currently in their midst was not doing such a good job.

"He knows what's wrong," Natasha agreed. "We just have to convince him to tell us what it is."

"Bringing Rhodes in might be an exercise in futility," Steve grumbled.

"It probably is," Bruce murmured. "But if he can handle that for a while, I won't complain. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my lab, trying not to break anything."

None of them were stupid enough to call him on his obvious temper, and Bruce made it through the night without letting the other guy loose.

* * *

"A little warning would have been nice!"

Lieutenant Colonel James "Rhodey" Rhodes was not happy. Not that anyone could blame him. Even Thor was irritated with Tony, regarding him as an impudent child rather than the mighty warrior he had come to respect and, daresay, love. From what they could hear through the walls—and they could hear them through the walls—things had not gone well.

It did not help that Rhodey had walked in on Tony straight out of the shower.

"Get the hell out, you freakin' pervert!" was still ringing in their ears.

"It's like dealing with a teenage girl!" Rhodey growled. "I haven't had to deal with this crap since MIT, and not from him! He's usually much more creative."

"Right?!" Clint joined in, glad to have an ally. "I love duking it out with him! He comes up with the best names! Robin Hood is still my favorite."

"I never thought I'd miss him calling me honey bear," Rhodey grumbled. "What happened?"

A bit of hashing back and forth, and they concluded that Rhodey had no further insight. Though Natasha latched onto part of his complaint and ran with it.

* * *

_"This is a weird idea,"_ Clint's voice was low in her ear, but Natasha ignored it. Thus far, she and Pepper were still the only ones who could get within striking distance of Tony without him tensing up or freaking out completely on them. His screaming fit the other day with Rhodey was still strong in her memory. _"You sure about this?"_

Natasha was not sure, but they needed to cover their bases. And Rhodey had said something that struck a chord with her.

This was why she was entering the room juggling a tray of food, a duffel bag, and a garment bag two days after they had brought Stark home from SHIELD.

Tony was sitting on his bed, frowning at a magazine article that, from what Natasha had noted form the security footage, he had been attempting to work through for the past forty minutes. Not surprising, considering the only reading material they had at the moment was a stack of scientific journals from Banner's collection.

"Having trouble?" Natasha inquired, setting the tray (turkey sandwiches and Coke) on the dresser.

It wasn't Tony's actual room. This was a guest room that had only the bare necessities. Pepper had provided clothing and towels, and they had dumped the articles in the room before leaving Tony to himself for a solid twenty-four hours. The only time he interacted with anyone was when they brought him food, and he would only speak when Natasha was the one who brought it.

"Who can read this stuff?" Tony complained, bounding off the bed to the food. His appetite, at least, was healthy. More so than usual, actually.

"Other scientists," Natasha said, barely glancing at the magazine. She liked to think herself intelligent, and she was, but she did not speak that particular language. "I'll see what I can do about getting you some better reading material. And maybe a television."

"Thank god," Tony groaned around his sandwich. He considered Natasha, who had perched herself on the bed to watch him. (He was wearing a bulky sweatshirt and jeans today. He had always preferred fitted layers in the past, but this strange version of him seemed to like oversized, more androgynous clothing.) "What's that?"

Natasha glanced at the bags she had flung across the bedspread. She looked back to Tony.

"I need a second opinion."

He paused, then took a drink of his cola. Tony was not usually a soda drinker. He liked his coffee. But they had been unable to get him to drink the beverage. Instead, he went straight for the diet coke.

"For what?"

"I have an event this weekend," she said easily. "I've picked out a couple dresses, and I need help deciding which one to wear."

"Why not ask one of your friends?" Tony drawled, pure sarcasm on the final word.

"They're not good at this," Natasha replied, already tugging dresses free of the garment bag. "You've always been helpful in the past. I don't see why I shouldn't ask you now."

That was a blatant lie. Tony had never offered an opinion on anything remotely resembling female apparel in over a year. He used to help Pepper, but since their mutual break, he had kindly refrained from saying anything that might be construed as flirtatious. (Especially once she started dating again.) And with Natasha, he simply claimed that he valued his extremities too much to offer anything more than the token _you look lovely, as always_.

But this Tony did not know that, as was obvious by his hedging expression. He glanced at the dresses, then shrugged and walked back to the bed.

"What kind of occasion?" he asked.

"A formal gala. White tie," Natasha replied. "Clint's taking me." She paused, then added, "the guy with the spiky dark blond hair."

Tony did not seem to always recall their individual names, nor did he appear to care to try.

"You two an item?" Tony asked, reaching to move the dresses so he could see them side-by-side.

_"Hah!"_ Clint snorted in her ear.

Natasha smiled faintly.

"He's a childhood friend," she murmured. "He's actually gay."

_"Excuse me? What the hell!"_

_"Hush."_ Bruce was ever helpful, silencing Clint before he could get too distracting.

"Thought so," Tony snorted. "He's got the vibe." _"VIBE?" "Do be quiet, Clint."_ "Are you going to try them on?"

"Sure."

Ten minutes later, Tony pointed decisively at Natasha's favorite blue dress.

"They all look good, but it's the best color for you," was Tony's reason.

"I was leaning toward that one too," Natasha told him. "Now help me accessorize."

"Whoa!" Tony blurted when she upended the duffel, pouring out shoes, gloves, hair accessories, and various cosmetic items. "Okay, these shoes, definitely."

Natasha smiled and set aside a pair of black stilettos, watching as Tony rifled through the items cautiously.

"You should definitely go red," he declared, picking up tubes of lipstick and reading the ends. He found one and handed it to her. "Eyeliner, for sure. And—is this Mac? Their stuff is the best. Go smoky-eyed. That would be a good look on you."

_"Jesus H. Christ."_ Unsurprisingly, that was Clint.

"Thank you," Natasha held up two bottles of nail polish. "Red or pink?"

"Match the lips!" Tony replied with a hesitant smile. It was the first such expression he had offered. Natasha supposed she should feel a little guilty that it was in response to a lie, but she had not felt bad about lying for the good of her and her team in a long while.

"Red it is," she agreed. "Thanks for the help. I'll see what I can do about the entertainment around here. Any author preferences?"

Tony looked leery for a moment, as if he thought she was making fun of him. Okay, so she kind of was, but she did not actually want him to know it. If it had been the true Tony Stark that she knew and tolerated, then it would be fine that he realized her game. This guy, though. This person was not her comrade. He did not get that kind of familiarity.

"Anything by Stephenie Meyer," he said reluctantly. "Or Charles De Lint."

_"Did he just ask for the Twilight series?"_

_ "Do I want to know why you know who the author of that series even is?"_

"I'll do my best. We should be able to get a television in here before tomorrow, though. We have Netflix."

Tony's face split in a grateful smile.

"Awesome."

* * *

"Oh, my fucking god," Clint was, of course, the first to speak when Natasha walked in to Bruce's lab. The team had set up base there, the surveillance monitors for the guest room where Tony currently resided displayed against the wall. "That is either the gayest man alive, or he is a teenage girl."

"I'm leaning toward the latter," Bruce said mildly.

"Are you using that term to imply happiness?" Thor inquired. "Or is this the definition you earlier offered?"

"Go with the slang definition," Steve said, sounding a bit shell shocked himself. He looked at Natasha, earning only a raised eyebrow, and so turned to Bruce.

Bruce was having a difficult time with this as well. He had just witnessed his closest friend behaving in a truly bizarre manner. His theories were starting to change and realign, new possibilities suddenly presenting themselves for his attention. Some of them he truly despised—knew Tony would hate them as well.

"That is not Tony."

"I think that is something on which we can all agree," Natasha claimed a seat on a workbench that Tony had long ago installed for his own use. Bruce actually glared at her for using it before mentally chiding himself for being ridiculous. Tony had never actually said no one else could use it.

"He is very well versed in women's clothing," Steve said uneasily. "I really don't see how this could be a protective personality."

"It's not," Bruce was already pulling up the files Tony had obtained through hacking SHIELD's database. Clint snorted when he saw it, but had nothing else to say. "Unless he's been researching cosmetics when no one was looking, he shouldn't have the base knowledge for this. Even alternate personalities cannot know things he has never seen or heard."

"Stark is not unfamiliar with utilizing cosmetics for the camera," Natasha recalled. "But he has always relied upon makeup artists or Pepper to assist him. I could ask Pepper, but I doubt she'll say any differently."

"Ask, just to be sure," Steve mumbled. "Bruce, what are you suggesting?"

"Magic!" Thor proclaimed. "It can be nothing other!"

Bruce grimaced and nodded.

"He's right," he admitted unhappily. "The person in the guest room has a history and a distinctive personality. But whoever it is, it's not Tony."

Steve rubbed at his face harshly, no doubt overtired and overworked from this mess. None of them had been sleeping well. Except for, perhaps, Tony.

The irony was painful.

"If that's not Tony, then who is it?" Steve asked after a minute of wincing contemplation. He looked up and met Bruce's helpless stare. "And where is Tony?"

That was the question of the hour.


	4. Chapter 3

It amuses me that it's been pointed out how this concept is very fangirlish. Because it is, and I did it anyway. I am only slightly sorry. As for which Supernatural episode this was inspired by (coughstolenfromcough), I'm not telling. That would make this too obvious. Aside from the concept, the episode itself was not one I really liked anyway, so no great need to rush out and Netflix this sucker.

Warnings: one spoiler for the movie, but I'm expecting most people have seen the movie by this point.

* * *

It had been a week, and no one knew quite how to deal with the intruder in their home.

This was how Tony Stark was currently defined. Intruder. He was not, in fact, Tony Stark but merely his likeness with a mind not his own residing in his body.

"It's like the goddamned curse of the body snatchers," Clint had said rather aptly one day.

One of the main reasons Bruce disliked magic was because it was so untested. It was like theoretical science that no one tried because very few believed it existed.

Well, it did exist, and he had already witnessed it. Thor was a borderline magical being in and of himself. The Tesseract had been a meld of science and magic that had nearly brought about the destruction of humanity.

Bruce wished Tony was around so they could expound on their mutual dislike for all things magical.

According to SHIELD files, there was one known entity who was familiar with the magical side of the spectrum. The only problem was, Dr. Strange liked to make himself extremely difficult to locate. It was not as though they had him on speed dial. Even more recent SHIELD files declared his location as Unknown.

Which meant they had to convince the person taking up residence in Tony Stark's body to tell them what had been done to cause this horrible allergic reaction.

Wait. That was just what Bruce kind of felt whenever he set eyes on the creature. It was difficult to consider it anything remotely human when it had overrun Tony's consciousness.

When the following week rolled around without any further headway made toward finding Strange, Bruce took a chance.

Thus far, only Pepper or Natasha had been remotely welcome in that room. Clint had been the last man to go in, and the person who was not Tony had promptly locked himself in the bathroom and refused to come out again until Clint left.

This meant Bruce had to be very cautious in how he proceeded. Because he had an inkling now as to what this behavior meant. Unfortunately for the intruder, he had very little sympathy for anyone who kept him from the people he cared about.

Not-Tony looked up from where he lounged on the bed, reading the copy of _Breaking Dawn_ Natasha had produced. Bruce stared at the book and wondered how horrified Tony would be to know he had been seen reading it.

At least he was not in public.

Bruce pulled a chair through the door and set it against the wall, closing the door behind him. He could see the man—not-Tony—already tensing to flee, so he held up a staying hand. Surprisingly, not-Tony stilled, watching the proceedings very cautiously.

"I'll make a deal with you," Bruce said, and he was rather proud of how even his voice was considering how exhausted he felt. This was probably not a wise move, coming to visit this person, but he had made his bed. "I'll sit in this chair and not move from it, and you don't blockade yourself in the closet or anything equally ridiculous."

The expression he got for his trouble was one of poorly veiled revulsion. Bruce had to wonder what kind of men not-Tony had been around to elicit that kind of reaction.

He sat in his chair, as promised, crossing his legs and resting folded hands atop them.

"What should I call you?" he asked to start. "Because you're obviously not Tony."

"Close enough," the intruder murmured silkily. Bruce felt an unhappy tremor rush up his spine, and he closed his eyes to distance himself from the sight of Tony combined with that deliberately provocative drawl.

"No, it's not," he said when he had collected himself. He fixed a harsh glare on the intruder. "You don't seem to understand the position I'm in."

"I understand that you people are keeping me in a fancy jail cell," not-Tony sneered.

"You understand nothing!" Bruce snapped. "You are a child playing a game with people who are way out of your league. Do you even know whose body it is that you are using as your own personal dummy?"

"Tony Stark," the intruder said snidely. "I hear it plenty."

Bruce took a bracing breath.

"How about the rest of us? Do you know who we are?"

"Why would I want to know?" the intruder snarled. "You're a bunch of assholes. What else do I need to know?"

Bruce stared at the intruder, taking in the three-day growth of stubble and the unfriendly curl of his lips in it. (Unwilling to let Tony go to total scruff, Natasha had pulled out an electric razor and helped this idiot shave the beard down to nothing. Tony would have hated it.)

"You might be interested to know that not all of us are out to hurt you," Bruce said mildly. "If you had chosen any stranger on the street other than Tony Stark, I might even be inclined to let you continue with this bizarre charade."

"There's nothing you can do about it," not-Tony said, though he looked highly uncertain of this fact. "I'm here now. Your friend is gone."

"Is he?" Bruce gazed at the strange person wearing Tony's face. There was a darkness building, malice bubbling up that was nothing like the other guy's rage. This was not anger. It was hatred. "If that's true, then you have a problem. Because Tony is one of only two people in this world that I would do absolutely anything for, and you're taking that away from me."

"Oh, boo-fucking-hoo."

"Your problem," Bruce continued, plowing over the snide retort. "Is that you don't know who I am and what I'm capable of. You're making enemies of people who can do very bad things to you without fear of retribution. If we chose to hurt you, there's absolutely nothing you could do to stop us."

Bruce would have relished the fearful look he received if it had not been on that face. Intellectually, he understood that this was not Tony. Unfortunately, his eyes were telling him a different story. Tony had never turned that angry fear on him before, and it hurt something in Bruce to see it now.

The hatred roiled beneath the surface. He should not be in this room. He could not be in it much longer.

"There is nothing I would not do to get Tony back," he said bluntly. "I'm going to make a one-time offer now. You give him back to us, and we'll forget this ever happened. We'll leave you alone."

The fear did not dissipate. It remained solid on not-Tony's face, mingling with uncertainty and finally leveling out into sheer stubbornness. Bruce stood.

"I'm through with you," he declared. "Enjoy the rest of your life rotting in this room because you're not going anywhere else."

"You can't do that!" Bruce did not have any difficulty discerning this voice from his friend's in its protest. It was too high, too panicked, borderline shrill. The sound was nothing Tony would have ever made. "I have rights!"

"No, you really don't."

He flung the chair out into the hall and slammed the door behind him.

Steve was there, looking sad and stern all at once. Bruce did not want to hear it.

"I'm fine," he growled.

"You're not," Steve said, quite correctly. "Fortunately, there's something by the Hudson that needs our kind of attention. You up for it?"

"I think I could stand to wreak some havoc."

Steve's smile was surprisingly vicious. It seemed that everyone was feeling the stress lately.

* * *

The intruder's name was Cassie. It might have been a name chosen out of the blue, but Bruce had added it to the file he had amassed in his attempts at identifying this thing that had taken over Stark's body.

Natasha had become the confidant, though she was liking the game less and less as time passed. (In truth, she had never enjoyed it, but it was getting painful.)

"If I have to watch one more episode of _Vampire Diaries_, I'm going to commit homicide," she had muttered over her coffee that morning.

She was in luck that day. They were onto the first episode of _Charmed_.

Of all of them, Natasha had the least amount of difficulty identifying this person with Stark's face under a different name. While even Bruce struggled to consider the intruder anything more than a doppelganger, Natasha had taken to calling the man Cassie with ease.

It helped that she was assisting him with all the masculine grooming that no one else could get close enough to do. It also helped knowing that the intruder was getting more thorough in his shaving habits than Stark ever would. Natasha was pretty sure he had shaved his legs and under his arms. That, and he liked to experiment with more gymnastic forms of exercise. Natasha was teaching him balance, and for some reason he enjoyed handstands. It was strange and disturbing on all sorts of levels.

"Am I really going to be stuck here forever?" the intruder—Cassie—asked that afternoon when Natasha stopped in with dinner.

Natasha stared at him, level for once.

"Yes."

Cassie looked at her, startled by the calm declaration of truth. Natasha sat cross-legged on the bed and considered the man next to her. Cassie had dressed once again in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, the sloppy androgynous look telling. Clint had nailed it long before Natasha got a name out of the intruder—this person was used to being a girl.

"You chose a high-profile man to hold hostage," Natasha added.

"I'm the hostage!" Cassie protested.

"As far as the others are concerned, you've committed a crime," Natasha said coolly. "This is either kidnapping or murder. You're lucky they chose not to put you in a federal prison. With looks like Stark's, you'd be someone's bitch in no time."

Actually, that was assuming no one ripped the arc reactor out of his chest. Then he'd just be dead. Cassie was ill-equipped to protect that body. It was for that reason the Avengers were doing it.

Cassie paled and drew his knees to his chest, hugging them tightly. His eyes had dropped. Natasha knew exactly where his mind had gone.

"Who hurt you, Cassie?" she asked quietly. Startled eyes darted up, but Natasha would not let this go. She strongly suspected this was the reasoning behind everything they were dealing with right now. "I know what it's like. It was a long time ago for me, but for you not that much time has passed, has it?"

Apparently three weeks was not enough time to build a rapport strong enough to get an answer to that question. Natasha sighed when the man shut down and avoided her eyes.

She stood, gathered up the empty tray, and left the room.

* * *

Steve Rogers considered himself a reasonably intelligent man. He admitted he was nowhere near Tony's level of intellect, or Bruce's. Actually, Pepper was probably smarter than he was, but none of that made Steve stupid. He was a good leader and a great strategist, and he was aware of this.

However, he never had anticipated the fallout that would result from the loss of just one member of their team.

It was not the loss of one that had caused this. Rather, it was the loss of Tony which was creating stress fractures all along their team walls. He was, almost literally, the glue which held this team together. Steve had always known that, without Tony, Bruce would have long ago run away to some remote place. What he had not realized was that Clint was also ready to jump ship.

"What do you mean: you've got a mission?" Steve heard himself ask blankly that afternoon. "You haven't taken missions from SHIELD in months!"

"There's no one else," Clint shrugged, tossing a few shirts into his duffel. "It's not like we're doing anything here. I feel like a glorified prison guard. I need a break, okay?"

"We're going to figure out what happened to him," Steve said. After over four weeks, it was getting repetitive and weak. They had not discovered anything new since learning the intruder's name, and no one could find a consultant versed enough on magic to figure out what had happened. SHEILD was being amazingly unhelpful, which was probably Steve's fault for having shoved Fury's orders in his face as he had.

"You've got my number, Cap," Clint flung the bag over his shoulder and hefted the case which stored his bow and quiver.

The next day, Thor declared he had a great desire to visit his beloved Jane in New Mexico.

Two days later, Steve was ready to drop to his knees and beg Bruce not to go. It was a near thing.

"You look a little desperate, Steve," Bruce remarked. Steve had caught him on the ground level of Avengers Tower. He was dressed to go out, umbrella in hand as it was raining heavily.

"We're falling apart, Bruce," Steve admitted. "It's only a matter of time before Natasha gets sick of dealing with this too. Please, Bruce. Even Pepper has stopped coming every day."

"I'm just going to pick up some groceries," Bruce said, smiling wearily.

Steve knew the man was not leaving yet. He wasn't even packed. But he had to make this point at some time. Better to make a fool of himself now than to be begging when Bruce really was packing up to leave.

"Can I come with you?" he asked.

"Need to get out for a while, do you?" Bruce chuckled, but it held little of his typical wry humor. He sounded flat.

"Desperately," Steve admitted, fetching his jacket from the hook against the far wall. "I don't think I can take much more of this, Bruce. I always knew Tony contributed a lot to this team, but I never realized just how much."

Bruce sighed and glanced out the glass doors into the cold winter drizzle. It probably felt as miserable as it looked, but Steve was willing to brave the cold to get out of this stifling environment, if only for a short while.

"Part of the problem is that he's not actually gone," Bruce admitted. "We see him every day, but it's not him. It's a stranger, but because of that we've put our friend under house arrest."

"And you?" Steve asked warily. "You haven't talked to him in almost three weeks."

"I'm putting the female pronoun in front of that one," Bruce snorted. "No matter what Clint says, gay is not equivalent to teenage female."

"Isn't Clint gay?" Steve asked before he could stop himself. That was insensitive, and probably none of his business.

"Bisexual, more likely," Bruce watched him lace up his boots. "He's been pretty mellow on the dating front since Agent Coulson died. Tony might know. He's the only one who would ask."

"Thor might," Steve mused.

"Clint doesn't take Thor seriously off the battlefield. Tony is the only one Clint might answer."

That much was true. Steve stood and followed Bruce into the rain. It was as cold as he thought it would be, but for once he did not mind.


	5. Chapter 4

Note: Thanks to all those who have stuck with me so far. Dealing with OCs is never fun. But here, we finally find out what became of Tony. As a side note, it's been pointed out that I am not, perhaps, giving the Avengers enough credit for their efforts. My fault, not theirs. I'm far less clever than Natasha is. Many apologies.

Warnings for the chapter: None.

* * *

It was interesting that no one recognized them when they were not in uniform. Or, in Bruce's case, big and green. Bruce took them down to a Thai grocer he had discovered tucked down a side street.

The owners knew him, but only insomuch as he shopped there somewhat frequently. They did not know Steve, and Bruce found himself introducing the man as a roommate, which was as close to the truth as one could get in their circumstances. After all, it was odd. They were like a clubhouse. Avengers tower, home for the wayward superhero and odd assassin. The closest definition Bruce ever had found was dormitory. Except their home was far nicer than any dorm Bruce had lived in.

"You think Natasha would join us out for dinner?" Steve asked as they headed back through the rain toward the tower. It was not far, or Bruce would have hailed a cab. But Bruce wanted the soothing white noise, and it wasn't worth the minimum fare.

"I should get this stuff in the refrigerator," Bruce reminded Steve.

"Oh. Right."

He felt bad for their team leader. Steve might be the one in charge, but Tony was like the cool uncle they all went to when Daddy got too strict. Bruce actually had very little interaction with Steve on a normal day. Certainly less than Tony usually did. He was more interested in the mind behind the Iron Man mask than he was in anyone else on the team, no matter how nice they seemed.

Bruce really could not have explained why. Not without sounding extraordinarily sappy. He doubted Tony would have gone for that.

"Did you hear that?"

Bruce glanced up at Steve, frowning at the question.

"Hear what?"

"I swear I heard someone shouting your name," Steve was looking around, but this was New York City. Even on a cruddy day like this, there were people out on the sidewalks, enough of a crowd that it was difficult to determine who might have called out.

They paused by the tower, looking back into the crowd. People looked at them curiously, because the only people who came and went from Avengers Tower were usually Avengers or there on related business. But Steve did not say he heard anyone again.

"Strange," Steve murmured, holding the door for Bruce.

He kicked off his wet shoes and unzipped his jacket. The weather in New York at this time of year was unpleasant at best, but it had been nice to be out in it for a little while.

"I don't suppose you could use any help in the kitchen," Steve offered.

"Captain America, rice cooker and dish boy," Bruce said lightly.

"I did plenty of that before joining the army," Steve chuckled. "Afterward too, come to think of it."

Something struck the glass door behind them.

Hard.

Startled, both men turned, Steve immediately on the defensive. Although no one yet had been brave enough to attack Avengers Tower, and Bruce could not come up with a reason why anyone would throw something at their backs, they were not without opposition. Most of the attacks had been political in nature, and once again Tony had come to their rescue. He and Pepper handled all of the Avengers PR, and they handled it well.

There was a child at the door.

"What the…?" Steve breathed, relaxing out of his fighting stance. "Is that a little girl?"

It was. The girl was small, probably no more than five-one or five-two, and sorely underdressed for the weather. She had also plastered herself to the door, pounding on it and shouting something they could not hear. She hollered again, and Bruce felt himself straightening in confusion.

"She's saying your name," Steve realized. "Mine, too."

Bruce set down the groceries as Steve pushed the door open. It had a one-way locking mechanism, or Bruce was certain the girl would have already been in the building.

"Steve!" the girl's voice was high and reedy. Even without knowing her well, Bruce could see she was upset. She grabbed at Steve's jacket the instant the door opened, clearly intending to hang on for dear life. "Thank god! Thank you!"

"Hey there. Hold on," Steve staggered, the girl's clinging body throwing him off balance. She was tangling into his legs, pushing closer than was really appropriate, her hands tight enough in his shirt that if he were to try to force her off, the cotton would tear. "What's wrong? Bruce!"

For someone who had supposedly spent a year traveling around the country with USO girls, Steve was remarkably incompetent when it came to dealing with them. He was not much better with children. Bruce suspected it was only because she was a soldier in her own right (and she would sooner cut his testicles off than deal with any advances or patronizing behavior) that Steve was able to work with Natasha.

Bruce set a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, bending down to put himself closer to her eye level.

"Honey, it's okay. We won't kick you out," he murmured. Dark eyes turned on him—wide and wild and flooding with tears—and instantly lit up with recognition. Bruce barely had a chance to realize what was happening before two slim arms were suddenly tight around his neck, a small, shivering wet body clinging to him. He tensed, then patted her back uncertainly. "Um… there, there."

The girl gave a shaky laugh.

"Christ, Bruce. You suck at this comforting thing."

That had been spoken almost directly into his ear by a trembling female voice. Bruce frowned, hand stilling on the child's back.

"We can pretend this never happened later, but please, Bruce," the girl begged. "Please don't make me let go."

Bruce went rigid, instinctively recoiling to look at the girl. She wouldn't let him, her arms tightening, a pleading moan humming in his ear.

"Don't," she hissed. "Don't do this to me."

"Holy god," Bruce breathed, looking to Steve in his shock. Steve just looked confused, but Bruce knew. He knew. "Tony?"

He grunted as the weight on him suddenly doubled, Steve's bracing hand saving him from a fall. The girl had all but leapt upon him, and he grabbed at her instinctively.

Bruce reacted without much thought after that. The girl's arms were nearly choking him, her legs locked around his waist. It should have been awkward as hell. Instead, Bruce wrapped his arms around the narrow back as tightly as he dared and refused to let go.

Over a month of not knowing. More than four weeks of thinking Tony scrubbed out by the parasitic presence of Cassie. A month of that, and suddenly Tony was here, alive and safe. Bruce was not quite sure how to handle it. The best he could manage at the moment was to keep from letting the other guy loose and just cling to his friend, even if it felt a little off.

"Tony?" Steve echoed incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, my god, Steve," the girl groaned. "I don't even want to hear it. Is Clint around? Because if he says anything about this shit, I will throw him off this tower!"

"Thank god," Bruce mumbled into the girl's hair. "We didn't even know if you were still alive!"

The girl—Tony—sobbed and clung to Bruce with every bit of strength she had in those skinny limbs. Admittedly, it was not much.

"We should get her upstairs," Steve suggested gently. "I need to call Clint and Thor. Do you need any help?"

The girl could not weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet (which he knew because she was drenched), and Bruce was not about to let go. No matter the body, this was Tony, and Bruce had had quite enough of the other person in their midst. He was not ready to let go, even if he had been feeling any strain, which he wasn't.

* * *

Natasha was sitting at the kitchen counter, sorting through a stack of books, when Rogers and Banner returned from their shopping trip. She was inclined to ignore them at first. She had stumbled upon a book by one of the authors Cassie liked that had struck an jarring chord with her. Not really one for fiction, Natasha had initially struggled with the storyline.

An hour later, she was still reading it.

It was not as though she liked it. Quite the opposite. The book made her extremely uncomfortable, which was saying something. She decided she would not be giving this book to Cassie.

The book had made her so uneasy that Natasha decided Rogers and Banner's return was actually something worth noting. She set it down and looked up when the elevator pinged and opened, revealing the men.

Natasha frowned.

"I was unaware you could purchase people at the grocery now," she said mildly. "At least, not in this country."

There was a young girl wrapped around Banner such that one would think that death awaited her if she were to let go. Banner stopped in the entrance, while Rogers immediately dashed off down the hall.

"Doc?" Something was off here. It was not even the girl—stranger things had been brought into the tower—but rather the way Banner held her. There was a desperation in the scientist's eyes that Natasha had never seen in him. "What's going on?"

Rogers returned with more towels and blankets than one person could possibly need. Dropping most of them, he wrapped one of the towels around the girl's shoulders.

Truly curious now, Natasha got up to join the men and this waterlogged little girl. Rogers was muttering at her, probably trying to convince her to let go of Banner. He was mildly successful, if that was the case. The girl let her legs drop, standing under her own power, but she kept a solid hold on Banner's shirt.

Up close, Natasha realized her initial impression had been wrong. This was not a child. Though small, the girl was a teenager—her actual age probably somewhere between fifteen and seventeen. She was smaller than Natasha, the top of her head nowhere near reaching Rogers' shoulder, so the mistake was easy to make. Her figure was obscured by towels now, but Natasha had caught a glimpse of the slight curve of breasts not quite hidden by an oversized tee shirt.

The girl was pretty, despite an obvious attempt at hiding it. The clothing was too large, looking as though it was borrowed or stolen. Her hair was a black that was too dark to be her natural color (although the pale brown roots were just as telling) and chopped short. It was a ragged job. Natasha imagined the girl had done it herself with only a mirror and a dull set of scissors to aid her.

It was a look Natasha had tried for herself at roughly the same age. This girl was attempting to look like a boy. It wasn't really working for her either.

All this Natasha noticed over the course of a few seconds. She had created a picture that she was not sure she liked.

"Who is this?" she demanded. Banner did not even look at her. He was too busy examining the girl, his face growing darker as he did. "Cap?"

"It's Tony," Steve said sharply.

Natasha felt her face go blank.

"What?"

Red-rimmed eyes turned on her. They were the wrong color. Too much green in them to belong to Stark.

Rogers did not repeat himself. He set his jaw and scrubbed at the girl's hair with a towel, looking torn between stubborn knowledge and helpless disbelief. Natasha did not blame him. The only things that had her believing any of it was the fact that she knew Captain America would not lie to her and that Banner had never looked so relieved in his life.

"How is this possible?" she asked finally.

"We're still going with the magic theory," Rogers muttered.

"Fuck magic," the girl grumbled, crowding into Banner's space until he was incapable of doing much more than return the embrace. She narrowed her eyes at Natasha, silently daring her to comment. Natasha was not sure which to be more intrigued by: the female factor or the way the girl clung to Banner.

"You have bruises on your wrists," Banner said, deceptively mild.

"I'm not talking about that yet," the girl slid her arms under his and buried her face in his shoulder. Though muffled, Natasha could still interpret the next request, "I want a shower and my bed and a stiff drink. Not necessarily in that order."

"Are you old enough to drink?" Natasha asked skeptically. She did not wait for an answer that she would not likely get. "You were missing for a month, Tony. Where have you been?"

"Cross-country road trip," the girl—Tony—mumbled into Bruce's shoulder. "I thought it would be awesome to learn the joys of hitchhiking. I am installing an emergency line for future occasions where one of us is suddenly no longer ourselves so that I never have to sit in a Mack truck again."

Bruce's hands twitched against the girl's back.

"You hitchhiked?" he demanded. "Are you okay? Did anyone hurt you?"

"I am so far beyond the realm of okay now, Bruce." She was going to pass out. Natasha could see it in the sudden paleness of the face resting against Bruce's shoulder, in the sudden laxness of the hands in Bruce's shirt. The girl had used up her reserves to get to the tower, and now she was safe. Adrenaline crash was worse than caffeine and sugar combined. "Don't look at me and think it's even possible for okay to be on the books."

"Don't let him fall," Natasha ordered.

Bruce looked up in alarm, then tightened his grip when the girl collapsed against him in a dead faint. Steve automatically pulled the towel away, moving to assist, but Bruce waved him off.

"I got it," he assured the captain. Bruce was possibly strong enough to lift Tony normally. This small female body could not weigh more than a hundred pounds, and he scooped her up with ease. "You should call Pepper and Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes while you're getting the rest of the team back here."

The two men were falling over themselves for this girl, who they believed to be Tony. The belief was probably not wrong, which meant something.

Natasha left them to it. She needed to speak with their other guest.

* * *

Cassie looked up when Natasha entered the room. It was interesting, Natasha mused, how the body was Tony Stark's, and yet there was more of Stark in the wry expression on one small teenage girl's face than there was in the man in this room. There was probably something wrong with how easy it was to accept this mess, but then again, Natasha had dealt with Loki. This was nothing.

"I have a theory, Cassie," Natasha murmured. This was not the persona she had projected when typically dealing with this man-woman-child, and she could tell he had noticed. Already the man was tensing, his hands curling tight around the book he had been reading, gaze gone wary.

"Natasha?" The shake in the voice betrayed fear. Natasha clamped down on a vicious satisfaction and forced herself not to smirk. Her lips twitched anyway, but she managed to keep her face mostly impassive.

"A young woman—sixteen or seventeen—with dyed hair and green eyes," she said calmly. "Small and weak and incapable of overcoming the strength of those around her. So she turns to other means of escape."

That sick look was satisfying, even if it was Stark's face.

"I don't know how you did it, but we're going to fix this," Natasha informed the intruder. "Stark is more resourceful than you are, obviously, if he was able to do what you could not."

"You can't make me go back," Cassie breathed. The horror of the words flooded the room. Natasha almost pitied this creature. "I'll die before I go back."

"Is that a threat?" Natasha lifted an eyebrow. Cassie lifted a defiant chin, and Natasha did smile then.

The intruder never saw it coming.

* * *

Pepper was there within the hour. Thor declared he was on his way, and Rhodes said he had used his emergency leave already but would fly in when he could. Clint was harder to contact, and Natasha finally placed a call through to SHIELD. Some creative threats had her put through to him, and she was impressed with his extensively vulgar vocabulary. He swore he would be home the next day.

"Where is he?" were the first words out of Pepper's mouth when she stepped off the elevator.

"In his room, with Dr. Banner and Captain Rogers," Natasha informed the woman. She would have been in the room as well, but by being the last to lay claim, she had been delegated greeter. Thus, she was pointing Pepper to the right hallway. (Not that Potts needed to be shown. The woman had helped build this place after all.)

They went to the bedroom together. (Thor would let himself in through whichever entrance he so pleased, and there was no point in trying to predict it, assuming he arrived anytime soon.)

"Oh, my god," Pepper breathed when she saw the small form in the oversized bed. Stark was still out, sleeping peacefully while Banner monitored his vitals and Rogers monitored the cool damp cloth across his brow. "Is this… is that really Tony?"

Natasha had already come to terms with it. After having spent a month with a girl residing in Stark's body, it was now less difficult believing a man could be trapped in the form of a teenage girl. She had even begun to think of the girl in masculine pronouns.

"It seems that way," Rogers said, shifting to let Pepper claim the spot beside the unconscious girl on the bed. She hesitated, staring down at the pale, smooth face haloed by dark-dyed choppy hair.

"Only Tony would know who and what I am and try to tackle me anyway," Bruce said. Despite the harsh words, his eyes were warm and grateful. "It's really him."

"Tackle you?" Pepper looked up, caught somewhere between relief and agony. She had already taken up a slender hand between her own, cradling it as though it were more delicate than a butterfly's wing.

"Gave an impressive performance of being a lonely koala," Natasha clarified. "Or perhaps an octopus."

"I'm a little concerned as to what he had to go through to get here." Bruce had hold of the other arm, his hand strong around the frail-looking wrist while he looked at his watch. "He's not bleeding, but the bruising is suggestive of more than a simple fight."

"Why is he unconscious?" Pepper asked, fingers gently massaging the hand between hers.

"Exhaustion, mostly. He's running a low-grade fever. Nothing bad enough to knock him out. I'm sure running around the city in the rain didn't do him any favors."

"I don't understand why he didn't call us," Pepper whispered. It was unnecessary. Tony had slept through being undressed and redressed and bundled into a bed. Mere conversation would not disturb him. When he was ready to wake, Natasha knew he would. "I would have helped him."

"We won't know until he wakes up," Rogers retrieved the cloth, changing it out with a new one. Water drained over the bridge of the girl's nose and down thin cheeks in a parody of tears, but he left it to air dry. The evaporation would create a cooling effect.

"What about the other one?" Pepper asked abruptly, angry eyes unerringly finding Natasha's. "That person charading as Tony?"

"Cassie," Natasha said point-blank. Pepper knew the name, had been informed of this, but only now was it sinking in. "Whose body do you think this is?"

"You're saying… this girl and Tony swapped bodies." The words were skeptical, but the tone was less than disbelieving. All of them had made the connection. Tony had not been carrying anything—no money, no phone, no identification—but there was little doubt as to what name truly belonged with this girl sleeping in his bed. "How is that… you know what? Stupid question. I don't even know why I'm asking. More importantly, is this something you can fix?"

"We'll fix it," Rogers stated.

"If not, we'll just dispose of the other one and have Tony come out as his own daughter," Natasha said.

"That's not remotely funny." Once Pepper might have sounded shocked. Now, however, she merely sounded weary.

"It wasn't intended to be," Natasha arched an eyebrow. "I simply see no other option should we be unable to reverse this."

"We'll fix it," Rogers said again, shooting Natasha a harsh look. The man had always been an optimist, and he was not a fan of any sort of fatalistic commentary. Too bad Clint wasn't there. That man always offered levity in a bad situation. He and Stark got on famously.

"Should I contact a doctor?" Pepper asked, smartly changing the subject. She sent Banner an apologetic smile. "Not to impugn on your intelligence, Bruce, but—"

"I'm not a medical doctor, I know," Banner did not take any offense. For someone who was known for what happened when he lost his temper, Bruce was one of the most mellow people Natasha knew. "Tony's condition has not changed in the last hour, so I wasn't too worried. My recommendation is to give him time to rest and recover, and if he hasn't woken in another couple hours, we'll take him to SHIELD medical."

Pepper was quiet, her hands still cradling Tony's, gently warming it in her palms. Whatever she decided, so long as it did nothing to threaten the Avengers, would be carried out, of course. This woman had power of attorney for Stark. She was the one who could make any calls he was physically or psychologically incapable of making for himself.

"One hour," she said finally. "SHIELD medical as a last resort. We've got doctors on payroll who are very discreet, but I don't know if this is something for them."

"SHIELD doctors are generally more about field medicine," Natasha cautioned. "They couldn't find anything wrong with Cassie."

"Physically, there isn't anything wrong with… Cassie," Banner said, voice dark with annoyance. It was no secret that he hated anything and everything to do with the girl currently residing in Stark's body. He frowned and looked up, meeting Steve's eye. "I have a friend—he's a scientist as well, but he's done a great deal of medical study. Last I knew, he was in upstate New York. I'll give him a call."

"Anyone we know?" Natasha inquired, her probing tone provoking an uneasy glance from the scientist.

"SHIELD might know of him," Banner admitted. "Supposedly Tony met him some years ago. Dr. Henry McCoy."

Natasha did not even have to search her memory banks for that one. She arched an incredulous eyebrow at Banner.

"Beast?"

"He prefers Hank," Banner said stiffly. "I'm going to call him anyway. If there's anyone Tony will respond well to, it's him."

Steve looked between them.

"Who is McCoy, and why did you call him Beast?"

* * *

Note: Making this assumption that Steve has yet to have met the X-Men. I know these things cross over all the time, but I'm pretty firmly entrenched in movie-verse, which does not like to mingle quite so freely. Hopefully I don't utterly fail at this...


	6. Chapter 5

Note: Here I make an attempt at X-Men characterizations. Fear it. Fear it a lot.

Warnings: Yes. See first chapter.

* * *

Dr. Henry—please feel free to call me Hank—McCoy was a mutant. Steve had heard about mutants. He had even read a few of SHIELD's files on the ones they considered dangerous—Magneto, Mystique, and Juggernaut to name a few. Beast must have been considered fairly benign, because Fury had never seen fit to pull up his file.

They were lucky he was friendly, a giggly, hysterical part of Steve thought. Because Hank was a large, blue-furred man who was easily as broad across the shoulders as Thor. He was not up to Hulk standards of size and weight class, but he was impressive all the same. The size, combined with a set of teeth that looked like they would be at home in a tiger's mouth, lent him a menacing air. Steve hated to think it, but the man looked like a cross between a lion and a gorilla. Except he was, you know, blue.

And wore glasses.

And a tie.

He arrived via helicopter, forty minutes after Bruce called him, and he did not arrive alone. His companion was a tall, beautiful black woman with strikingly white hair. She was also dressed strangely, in a form-fitting black outfit with what looked to be a cape that attached at the cuffs and collar.

She looked the superhero type.

"My name is Ororo Monroe," she offered, her voice deep and melodic. Steve immediately felt himself fluster under her gaze. He quickly offered his hand in return, feeling horribly out of sorts.

"Uh, Steve Rogers," he stammered. He waited a bit too long to add, "This is Natasha. That's Virginia Potts and Bruce Banner."

"And the child is Tony Stark," Monroe said, looking extremely disturbed about the statement.

"…Thank you for coming," Steve said for lack of anything better.

Steve was having some difficulty reconciling this girl with the man he had come to know. Speech patterns and general knowledge of the team was proof enough that the girl was, in fact, Tony Stark. Steve was still a little shaky on the acceptance bit.

After shaking Bruce's hand and smiling politely at Pepper, McCoy took the proffered chair and set about unpacking his bag. He looked improbably scholarly with his glasses perched on his nose as he delicately felt Tony's face. His appearance was definitely at odds with his professional behavior, but Steve supposed he had seen stranger.

Aliens. Giant killer robots. Okay, those were evil things, but they were definitely stranger.

Tony, being the contrary person he was, chose the moment McCoy tugged at an eyelid to wake up.

The girl—boy…man…Tony—struck out, knocking aside McCoy's hand (which probably only happened because McCoy allowed it). Steve winced at the strangled cry and lurched forward a step when Tony immediately tried to roll away.

A hand on his arm halted him, and he looked over to see Monroe give a minute shake of her head. Surprised but no less anxious, Steve looked back in time to see Bruce intercept before Tony could scramble free of the bed.

"Tony, you're at home," Bruce murmured, easily restraining the small body as Tony gasped and fought for freedom. "You're safe. You passed out earlier, remember? Just after you made it home."

"Bruce!" Tony panted, then clutched at the man. Had Tony been himself—physically speaking—Steve would have been alarmed at this clingy display. Right now, it seemed less shocking that a frail young woman was grasping at Bruce's shirt and hiding her face in his shoulder.

The brief time it took the girl to recover and shove away was all Tony.

"Sorry," Tony grimaced. A small hand came up to grab at the front of the shirt they had changed Tony into, and Steve knew he was not imagining that crestfallen look. An instant later, Tony forced a brief, unhappy laugh. "I was kind of hoping all that was a nightmare." Green eyes widened a bit upon seeing McCoy, but it was less alarm than simple confused surprise. "Dr. McCoy? Jesus, was that you feeling me up?"

"My apologies for startling you, Anthony," McCoy said in his incongruently genteel manner. "I was merely attempting to conduct an examination. Fainting is never a sign of good health, as I'm sure you know."

"Yeah," Tony sighed and sat back down with obvious reluctance. "Well, I suppose it can't hurt, right?"

McCoy took it in stride, settling back on his chair and cautiously reaching to feel at Tony's neck. It looked a bit intimidating, actually. McCoy's hand was large enough to span Tony's shoulders. He could probably snap Tony's neck on a whim if he chose.

Instead, he asked: "Any vertigo?"

"Not right now," Tony answered solemnly. "Just sick mostly. I haven't been able to keep much of anything down for a while."

"How long is a while?" McCoy inquired. He took a pulse, just as Bruce had done a little under an hour ago.

"Three… four weeks?" Tony shook his head, choppy dark hair flying wildly. There were holes in Tony's ears, Steve noticed. Several. At least five, all empty. (There were two in the eyebrow as well, which Bruce had speculated to be a piercing that had been removed. Steve was a little put off by the thought of that many piercings in such strange places.) "It's been hard to track time, honestly. Almost since the beginning."

"Other symptoms?" McCoy pulled a stethoscope from his bag.

"Mostly the nausea," Tony looked sick just saying it. It was difficult to know what the girl was supposed to look like, but to Steve, Tony seemed unduly pale. "I'm tired, a little achy, but I haven't been sleeping well."

"Insomnia?" McCoy inquired.

"Kind of freaked out about sleeping around strange truck drivers," Tony retorted.

"Deep breaths."

It was quiet then, no one interrupting as McCoy checked out Tony's heart, lungs, temperature, eyes, ears and nose.

"I'll need to borrow your laboratory for some blood work," McCoy said. Tony winced when the next case he pulled out opened to reveal several needles and vials. "I'm sure you have the tools I need."

"Bruce's lab should have it," Tony grimaced and held out an arm.

"I understand you have access to medical supplies," McCoy said, glancing up at Natasha as he tied a rubber tube around Tony's arm above the elbow. Natasha nodded curtly, and he looked back to the needles. "I will make a list of items I would like you to retrieve. If someone would also procure a pitcher of water and some ginger ale. We need to get young Anthony rehydrated."

Bruce left to get the drinks.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Doc," Tony protested, watching the alcohol swab brush across his skin.

"Currently, I believe you are mistaken," McCoy said jovially. The needle slid into Tony's arm easily on the first try, but he winced all the same. Steve could sympathize. He was sure he had given enough blood to scientists and doctors to last for a lifetime of study. "You appear to be no more than fifteen."

"Sixteen," Tony said dully. "That's what the ID said."

"You have an ID?" Pepper asked. Tony blinked at her, as if just noticing she was there.

"Not with me," he admitted. "There was too much risk of getting picked up by the police. They would have hauled me back to Oregon. Better to risk social services than that."

"You were in Oregon?" Pepper blurted.

"La Grande," Tony added. There was no mistaking that look on his face. Even in the feminine, teenage guise (or perhaps because of it), Tony was incapable of disguising that haunted expression.

"Any potentially fractured bones?" McCoy asked mildly.

"Sprained ankle almost four weeks back. I was stuck with crutches for nearly two weeks before I could finally ditch them and get the hell out of Dodge."

"You have a lot of bruising," McCoy said, somewhat severely.

Bruce walked back in, balancing two stacked glasses, a water pitcher, and a bottle of ginger ale. Steve quickly relieved him of the water and they set the items on the table beside the bed.

"I met some not very nice people," Tony retorted. He hesitated, then quietly added, "Shit happened."

"I see," McCoy said calmly. "This next portion of the examination may require some privacy. Anthony, if you would prefer someone else remain in the room, you have that option. Otherwise, I would ask everyone to leave."

Steve and Bruce had already seen the girl nearly naked. They had been required to strip Tony from soaked clothing a couple hours ago. But Tony did not actually know that, and there was no point in adding to the discomfort of the situation. It had to be awkward enough having all of them in the room for any sort of physical exam.

When Tony was quiet, everyone grudgingly filed out of the room. They stood outside the closed door, no one quite certain what to say.

It was Pepper who broke the silence, minutes later.

"Do you think we should have him examine the other one?"

"Might not hurt," Bruce sighed. "I should go make sure everything is set up for him in the lab."

He disappeared to do just that.

"I feel I should be assembling some sort of paperwork," Pepper murmured. "In case we need to create an identity for Tony as this… girl."

"If it comes down to it, Director Fury will assign someone to do that," Natasha said frankly. "I was not joking earlier."

"I really wish you had been," Pepper said in a small voice. Steve set a hand on her shoulder, uncomfortable but sympathetic at the tears and her sudden reach for tissues. "Thank you. I'm just… I'll just…"

She left without saying anything more coherent. Steve watched her go, feeling helpless and not particularly liking it.

"Have you spoken with…" he struggled to recall the name. "With Cassie?"

"She was uncooperative," Natasha said coldly. "And she made threats on her own life—Tony's, as the situation stands. I restrained her."

"Where is she now?"

"Handcuffed to the guest bed."

Steve was oddly okay with that. He probably should not be, but the hostility was contagious, and seeing Tony sick and helpless was tipping the scale against the intruder. (Tony being young and female were strong factors, of which he was aware his upbringing to be a factor, but it was difficult not to want to protect a young girl. Even if that girl was really Tony.)

They lapsed into silence, each lost to their own thoughts as they waited in the hall outside Tony's bedroom. Steve was so wrapped up in his concern that he was startled when the door opened.

"Is everything okay?" he immediately asked.

McCoy was grave and did not answer the question. Instead, he looked at Natasha.

"I require these items," he said, holding out a piece of paper. "However, I believe it would be best if you remained here with Anthony. Is there anyone else who can obtain these?"

"Rogers can do it," Natasha said, and Steve frowned. When McCoy said they needed to stay with Tony, he had assumed the doctor meant both of them. "Don't worry, Cap. Just show the nurses what you need, and they'll get it for you. They're not going to say no to Captain America."

"Won't Director Fury have something to say about it?" Steve objected. It was a juvenile tactic, but he wanted to remain here to be certain of Tony's well-being.

"He'll be on the helicarrier," Natasha countered. "You should be able to get to the field office and back in under an hour. Careful on your bike though. Don't break anything. I don't want to make a second trip."

Unhappy but unable to argue the point, Steve accepted the list and went to get his jacket. He hoped it had stopped raining, or he was going to have to borrow one of Tony's cars. The last time anyone had borrowed a car without permission, it had been Clint, and Tony had been shockingly hostile. (Actually, so long as they got permission, Tony seemed not to mind. And Steve recalled the car-borrowing fiasco had happened the day after Pepper and Tony had broken up. Bad timing all around.)

Steve had to wonder what kind of response he would get now for that same offense. For some reason, he doubted there would even be one.

* * *

The rooms were virtually soundproof, so Natasha had been unable to listen to whatever conversation had passed between Tony and McCoy. She was good at putting puzzles together, though, and she had her suspicions as to the topic.

Tony did not look like he was doing well right now.

Natasha had followed McCoy into the room to the sight of a girl with her hands fisted in her hair and her face buried in her knees. Her shoulders shook despite the blanket McCoy had apparently draped over her.

If she thought Tony would not react poorly, Natasha would have expressed her displeasure aloud in violently impolite Russian. Instead, she sat on the bed next to Tony, wrapped an arm around him, and tugged until he relented. She pushed her hands through his hair, gently dislodging his fingers. Tony shuddered and leaned into her shoulder.

"It will get better," Natasha said quietly. "I promise."

"How?" Tony whispered. It was one thing to know this was Tony, genius playboy billionaire philanthropist pain-in-SHIELD's-ass. It was another thing entirely to get past the youthful, feminine voice and the small fingers clasping at the soft material of Natasha's sweatshirt. Tony should have been a good six or seven inches taller. Instead, this body tucked into Natasha's like a child.

"I don't know," Natasha murmured into the soft hair at Tony's crown. "It just stops hurting so much after a while."

"Dr. McCoy wants to run a pregnancy test."

Natasha twitched. Of all the things Tony could have said, that one truly shocked her. She had plenty of suspicions about the small, pretty girl and Tony taking her body for a solo spin across the country.

No wonder he had attempted to chop his hair and grunge up.

Tony did not seem to notice the sudden ripple of rage that rushed through her.

"Someone in La Grande?"

"Among others," Tony sighed. Natasha's hand tightened on his shoulder. "By the time I got out of there, it just didn't seem to matter so much anymore."

"Would you know the father?" Natasha asked, perhaps a bit too mildly.

"I'll give you his address," Tony said bitterly. A violent shiver rushed through the narrow frame, and Natasha adjusted the blanket more tightly about Tony. "I'm done talking about this now."

Natasha understood perfectly.

"Perhaps you'd like to know what's been happening around here for the past several weeks," she offered.

"Shoot," Tony agreed. It was almost funny hearing something that was so Tony coming out of this girl's mouth. He was rapidly collecting himself, shrugging off Natasha's embrace, reaching for the glass of bubbling ginger ale. She wondered if he was thirsty or if he was just being polite about pushing her away. Natasha suspected the former. Tony Stark and manners were not often aware of each other.

"A little over four weeks ago you dropped like a stone in the middle of the kitchen," she started. "You were disoriented, and then you fainted."

"That was strange," Tony interjected. "One minute I was reaching for a beer, and the next, I was staring at a room I'd never seen before. The next thing I remembered was waking up in an unfamiliar bed."

"That meshes with our current theory," Natasha allowed. "For the first few days, the predominant theory was that you were in some sort of fugue state."

Tony froze in the act of putting the glass back on the bedside table. One similarity between this girl and Tony's actual face, Natasha noted, was that he was capable of making his eyes unbelievably wide.

"After that, we thought it was some sort of extrasensory psychic attack, that someone else had forced your consciousness aside," she continued. "Now, of course, we realize you have simply swapped bodies with a teenage girl who goes by the name of—"

"Cassie Morgan," Tony finished, visibly staggered.

"She never gave her last name," Natasha concurred. "For obvious reasons."

Tony made a soft noise. As Natasha had long since noted, it was difficult to read him on a good day. When he was sporting an unfamiliar visage, it was even more challenging to interpret the odd expressions and sounds he made.

She decided he was distressed.

"Where is…" he floundered. He was either overwhelmed or just flat out baffled as to how to address Cassie as a person. (_He, she, Cassie, my body_ were a host of ways he could have ended that inquiry.) Natasha was not sure why he trailed off, but she took pity on him either way.

"Cassie is on lockdown," she explained. "Let's wait until we're sure you're healthy enough to manage it before we have you look at a stupid teenage girl in your body."

Tony stared at her, blinking dumbly for a long moment. Then, he broke down in a fit of hysterical giggling. Natasha watched him, waiting. With behavior like this, it was only a matter of time before an emotion other than frantic humor took over. She anticipated tears.

As usual, Tony liked to defy Natasha's expectations. Still laughing, a bit weakly now as oxygen loss took its toll, he slid off the bed and paced over to the window, picking up the water pitcher and an empty glass as he went.

He looked even more like a child now. Rogers and Banner had redressed him earlier, and, in typical clueless guy fashion, they had ensconced the petite girl's frame in a red button-up dress shirt whose sleeves had to be rolled up and hem stopped a few inches above Tony's knees. They had located a pair of drawstring pants that still just barely stayed up on the small body's hips. Tony was not a big guy by any means, but the girl whose body he inhabited was petite to an extreme, barely topping out at five feet tall and probably underweight, considering his current health issues. His clothing was never meant to go on her body.

Tony was quiet, and Natasha continued to observe. His hand was a little shaky as he poured himself a glass of water, but it could have been the weight of the pitcher. The other hand was rock steady, the glass not moving until he set it on the sill.

That set off an alarm in Natasha's head. Tony should not have set the glass down. After all, why hold on to the pitcher?

Because he wanted to hurl it at the large plasma screen television mounted against the adjacent wall.

The heavy, water-filled pitcher shattered, as did the television. Both fell from the wall in a mess of sparking electronics, water, plastic, and broken glass.

Natasha looked back to Tony before the last of it fell, tensing to interfere. Again, Tony surprised her. He stared intently at the wreckage, almost analytical in his scrutiny. Then, he looked at Natasha calmly.

"I really need a shower," he declared.

Well, if that was how he wanted to play it, Natasha was game.

"I'll get you some clean clothes," she said. "Storm is probably almost finished with her shopping."

Tony's mouth quirked in a humorless attempt at a smile. It failed, so he just nodded.

"I'm unbelievably hungry," he added.

"Bruce was planning Thai."

"I think I'd eat anything he made, even knowing I'll throw it up again," Tony said, this time managing a closer approximation of a smile. Then he went to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door.

* * *

True to Natasha's word, Bruce made dinner. He may or may not have been influenced by Natasha mentioning in passing that Tony had expressed interest in his cooking. This should not have been surprising. Tony had always been fond of Bruce's culinary skills. But a month of hearing nothing of the sort from their prisoner with Tony's face and a month before that, when Tony was traveling across the country on business meant Bruce had not cooked once for Tony since late summer.

It was too bad, really, because while everyone else was polite, only Tony seemed to show any appreciation. Bruce got a lot of _it's really good, Bruce_, or _thanks for dinner, Doc_. When Tony was around, he got _oh my god, Bruce, this is awesome. Remind me to put you on payroll as my chef. You are never leaving my kitchen again_.

So yes. Bruce should have expected it. However, Tony had claimed he was sick to the point that he was not keeping down solid foods. It seemed only natural that he would not be interested in eating much of anything.

But Natasha said he wanted dinner and that he wanted the Thai Bruce had promised earlier. Which meant that Bruce had to send Storm out on another shopping trip to the grocery because he had not been anticipating five extra people when he picked up supplies. (Thor had come rushing in with his usual bluster, but Natasha took post at Tony's door, and he was sent back to the living area, much chastised.)

"Please allow me to aid you, doctor," Thor offered, not for the first time. Unfortunately, while Thor was very nearly the other guy's equal, or so Bruce had been told, it was in battle only. The man was a disaster in the kitchen. The best Bruce could do was try to deflect until Thor grew weary of offering his assistance and turned to some other task.

"Actually, this is something I really need to monitor." Not entirely true. And then, inspiration struck. "Although, if you would put out some dishes, I would appreciate it."

"It would be my honor, Doctor Banner," Thor said in his typical, grandiose manner. "How many shall be dining tonight?"

"Uhh… you, me, Tony…" Bruce did the mental calculation while making sure the sizzling over the stove was only that and not charring. "Eight, on the high end. I'm not actually sure if Pepper will be back in time. She mentioned having some legal work which needed doing."

"Your world's need for written documentation for everything which occurs baffles me," Thor admitted.

"It baffles almost everyone," Bruce claimed. "That's why I'm a scientist and not a lawyer."

"That's why I hired a personal assistant."

Bruce looked up at the quiet observation. He had only heard this girl on two occasions now, but he immediately recognized it as Tony. The voice was youthful and high, though it sounded as though Tony was attempting to drop the tone into something resembling his usual register. It did not really work. The self-conscious vanity of the act was familiar, however, and there was never any doubt that, despite the strange girl's face, this was Tony.

He looked better, if still terribly frail. Storm had done well dressing the petite frame, keeping the clothing boyish and to Tony's usual casual style. Loose cargo pants and a plain black, too-large tee shirt made for a skater-esque look. Bruce suspected Storm had gone to the men's section of the store and went for some of the smallest sizes available, just to keep Tony comfortable.

Tony came with an entourage. He was flanked by Storm, Hank, Natasha and Steve, the doctor helping push along a rolling stand with an IV bag hanging from it. Tony was hooked up and clutching at the pole, probably trying to keep the needle from pulling on his arm.

"Pepper makes sure I don't do anything that'll get me sued," Tony added.

Thor's face lit up in a joyous smile.

"This must be Anthony!" he proclaimed, arms thrown wide. "Welcome home, Shield Brother!"

Bruce tensed. Fortunately, he was not the only one who saw the potential problem. No sooner had he gotten out Thor's name, then Natasha was between him and Tony. Hank had a large hand over Tony's middle, one more barrier between him and the threat of Thor's enthusiastic (and frequently back-straining) embraces.

"Tony's not up to any rough handling right now," Natasha said bluntly. "This body is… delicate."

Tony was no happier about the interference than he ever was. Even before this debacle, they had a bad habit of coddling the billionaire. Bruce knew he was guilty of this behavior, but he prided himself in being only a fraction as irritating as Steve could get. Whenever Tony was out of the Iron Man armor, Steve seemed to think he was terribly breakable. Perhaps he was—he did not have the kind of training he really should have to defend himself against their kind of enemies—but Tony was a proud man. He hated when people saw the weakness.

"He's not going to break me," Tony grumbled, pushing Hank's hand aside and plucking Steve's hand from his shoulder. Tugging the IV stand from Hank's grasp, he stepped around Natasha and flashed the demigod a smile. "Just don't pull the IV loose. Doctor McCoy will pitch a fit. He's a big old teddy bear, but his snarls are kind of scary, okay?"

"Of course, my friend," Thor agreed.

He swept Tony up in a warm embrace, more gentle than Bruce had ever seen him attempt to be. It was like watching a mammoth of a man cautiously handle a newborn. Bruce quickly looked back to the oversized wok in front of him.

For once, Bruce wanted to be among the mass of people, pushing Tony into a chair at the table and making certain he was safe and comfortable and there. But dinner was in the works, and he was not going to serve Tony a burnt meal for his first time back eating with their damaged little family.

"Pepper won't make it back for dinner," Steve announced. Bruce was going to have words with the man, because that was his chair, and Steve was not allowed to sit there. "She's negotiating with Rhodes' superiors to get him flown back here for a few days' leave."

"Is Happy with her?" Tony asked.

"I believe so."

Natasha was sitting in Clint's usual spot, which was fine, but she was acting strangely. For one, she was sitting at the table before dinner was served. Also, she had her arm outstretched, resting along the back of Tony's chair in a familiar manner. Her hand came up and ruffled through the choppy black hair, loosening the damp strands, not even pulling away when Tony glanced at her warily.

There were reasons for this behavior, none of which Bruce wanted to entertain at the moment. Tony had been reluctant to talk about his injuries and had not expounded on how he had gotten from La Grande, Oregon to New York other than to mention hitchhiking in passing. That, combined with the knowledge of the psychological profile of their unwelcome guest (who was still locked in the guest room), had created a picture Bruce very much so disliked.

Right now, though, he just wanted to feed his friends—to feed that slip of child that was his best friend—and be grateful Tony was alive.

"Captain, get out of my chair and help me put supper on the table."

It was impolite, but it brought about the desired result. Tony looked up, eyes bright with good-humored surprise. Steve was equally startled, his surprise more shamefaced as he hurried to do as asked. He collected the serving dishes and watched Bruce uncertainly, but he dutifully claimed his usual chair at the head of the table.

Perhaps this was a possessive side Bruce needed to explore, but for now he was just happy to have his chair beside Tony.

Hank sat across from him, beside Thor, and Storm claimed the chair at the other end of the table. It was rare when they sat down for a formal dinner, but this table was always ready for the Avengers to use. When Clint arrived it would be complete. They were already overbalanced with the three largest people clustered in one corner, even though they were outnumbered. At least the other guy had not come out. Four tremendously over-sized men versus three women—only one of whom came close to being physically imposing—just threw off the whole Feng Shui of the room.

Dinner was an awkward affair at first, no one knowing quite what to say. Tony was usually the chatterbox of the group, though Thor could hold his own. Clint could talk when he was in a mood, but he was usually a source of smartass quips and less a supporter of lasting conversation. Hank, Bruce knew, could speak for hours if one just gave him an interesting subject. At the moment, both Tony and Hank were being particularly reserved, and Clint had not yet returned to provide them with incentive to bicker.

Finally, Thor broke the silence.

"Forgive my ignorance, but we appear to have guests tonight."

Bruce winced, noticed Tony doing the same beside him. Actually, Tony choked on his food, and Bruce rubbed his back while he scrambled for his water to help ease the food down the right pipe.

"Sorry, big guy," Tony said when he had recovered. "Meet Ororo Monroe—Storm for those of us incapable of pronouncing that—and Doctor Henry McCoy, codenamed Beast, is it?"

"Henry or Hank is fine," Hank said, flashing a razor-toothed smile. "I must say, it is a pleasure to meet the fabled Thor Odinson."

"Likewise, Henry Orhank." Tony choked again. Hank laughed and accepted Thor's handshake. "You are a creature unlike any I have encountered in Midgard. I am pleased to know you."

"Dr. McCoy is more human than anything else," Tony offered. "Doc, feel free to explain the X-gene. Layman's terms, you know. Thor's not a scientist."

"Most of those who attend my lectures are not," Hank remarked. Thor looked at him, rapt, and he was caught. Soon they were engulfed in a conversation about mutants, mutations, and those comparable in Thor's world.

The debate lasted well after they had finished eating. It would have lasted longer still, but they were distracted when Tony reached over and grabbed Natasha's wrist.

"I need the restroom now," Bruce heard him murmur to the assassin. Natasha was on her feet before he finished the request, pulling out Tony's chair and not commenting when he gripped her hand like a lifeline. They disappeared down the hall, taking the IV with them like some awkwardly trailing security blanket.

Conversation ground to a halt after that. Hank folded his napkin neatly and tucked it under the edge of his plate.

"Please forgive my rudeness in not offering to assist in the cleanup," the blue-furred doctor said. "But I need to check on the blood test results of my patient. Thank you, Bruce, for a wonderful dinner."

"It didn't seem to settle well with everyone," Steve said hesitantly, afraid of insulting Bruce's cooking skills. Bruce was too concerned to be offended.

"Anthony's illness is not a reflection upon your meal," Hank assured Bruce. "Although it may not be a bad idea to prepare some dry toast and more ginger ale for our ailing young friend. He was most stubborn in his insistence for your supper."

It was actually very flattering that Tony wanted to eat something Bruce made, all the while knowing he would never be able to keep it in his stomach. Bruce had to wonder if his friend would ever be able to eat Thai again. It was an unfortunate sacrifice.

* * *

Note/Disclaimer: While La Grande, Oregon is a real place, I chose it at random via Google Maps and mean no disrespect to anyone who actually lives there. Any OCs in this story do not exist but for in my mind, and any similarities to actual people are completely coincidental. Mostly I wanted a place that was small, fairly isolated, but big enough to have more than a gas station and a farm. Since Marvel is generally set in real places, I felt I should follow suit. To a man like Tony Stark, who is accustomed to big cities, lots of people, and being recognized by most of them, a place like this would seem on the surface like a backwater town with very little to offer.


	7. Chapter 6

_Warnings_: Not so much in this chapter. Ill-timed jokes, perhaps. Probable mistakes regarding the legal system.

* * *

Clint would never admit it, but he did not like being around the tower lately. Sure, the people were great. Except they really weren't. Natasha could disappear for hours, or even days, without explanation. Bruce holed up in his lab looking for a cure for his awesome superpowers. And Steve was trying to find new and creative ways to give back to the community.

Thor was occasionally interesting, but one got bored with trolling the technologically challenged after a while.

Tony was the one who kept them all human. (To be fair, Thor wasn't human, but he tried.) Clint would not tell the man under threat of death, but Tony was the one reason they were all still together.

It was not for the very obvious reason of the man providing them with room and board, although that did not discourage anything. It came down to family. Tony was like the brother Clint no longer had, someone he could hang out with and fight with and make fun of and tell things he'd never dream of telling anyone normally. (For all that was holy, Tony knew he was gay before Natasha did.)

Stark took on the father's role as well, stern and strong and providing for them. He earned Clint's respect when he put his foot down and, with some help from Rogers, pulled them away from the harsh workings of SHIELD.

Stark was their mother, clucking when they were hurt, or when Bruce made a mess in the kitchen, and when Natasha decided she wanted a cat. (_No, you cannot have a cat here. You know who will end up taking care of it? Me. And I have enough to do without tending to your damn pets._) He knew them better than they knew themselves, knew when Bruce needed to have some attention, knew when Steve was brooding over his long dead friends, knew when Clint lost himself in memories of lost self. He sat with Thor when the deity fell into depression over his lost brother. He did not mind when Natasha would emerge just to sit in his workshop, cleaning her gun and needing nothing more than his buzzing presence in the room.

Sure, there were times when he was more of a child, begging for attention and probably not even realizing what he was doing. He could act up with the worst of them, throw tantrums when things did not go his way, sulk away in his workshop when something upset him, launch into circular arguments such that no one else could hope to win. Then, he would light up like Christmas when he made something cool, all but vibrate with happiness when anyone else agreed with him that it was something worthwhile. He would whine and grumble when anyone made any physical show of affection—a hug, a noogie, a peck on the cheek—but be pleased when he thought no one was looking.

Tony was the American dream of a family (husband, wife, pet, two and a half kids and a picket fence) wrapped up in one man. Clint had not truly realized this until the man was not around. He just noticed there was a hole in him, and it hurt to hang around doing absolutely nothing to fix it. Sure, he felt bad when Steve gave him that puppy-dog stare, but he was strung tighter than a steel drum, and if he did not get out soon, he was going to do something very damaging to that psycho in Tony's body.

Color him surprised when Steve called three days later with the announcement that Tony had shown up at their front door.

In retrospect, Fury was going to be pissed that Clint borrowed—stole, commandeered, he would totally give it back—a quinjet rather than booking a commercial flight. Sometimes there were more important things to worry about than chain of command and paltry things like _permission_.

He had told Natasha his arrival would be sometime late the next day. That was only because Fury had been within hearing distance (i.e. he had been on the helicarrier, where all ears belonged to Fury). He landed the quinjet on the top of Avengers Tower beside an unfamiliar helicopter and thanked Stark for having the foresight to reinforce his landing pad and make it very large.

It was after one in the morning, and the tower was predictably dark. Bruce and Tony were the only ones who ever created any sort of stir in the late hours. Even then, they both kept it to their respective working spaces. Natasha would often be up late, but Clint was not supposed to know that. No one was supposed to know, but everyone did and said nothing.

There was an unfamiliar snore coming from a guest room down the hall from Tony's suite, and Clint guessed it to belong to the person who had arrived in the helicopter. It offered him no cause for concern. After all, anyone comfortable enough to take a guest room and then _snore_ was obviously a welcome addition to the household.

Tony's room was dark, not even lit by the soft glow of the arc reactor. (Of course it wasn't. That was in the imposter two floors down.) The entire building was unlit, but Clint had no problem seeing the shadows of people in the room.

Thor was the big one in the corner, camped out in a chair Clint was certain had never been there. Steve was the dark shape by the wall, huddled small and braced like a man who had grown accustomed to sleeping upright in awkward places. Bruce had fallen asleep in a straight-back chair that looked pilfered from a table set. He was slumped over on the bed, probably drooling on one of Tony's pillows. Clint spotted Natasha posted near the window, her eyes reflecting the light of the city beyond them. She watched him but otherwise did not acknowledge his arrival.

He had been warned. Natasha told him of Tony's strange new appearance. Still, it was one thing to hear it and another to see it. Clint stared down at the girl sleeping in the middle of Stark's king-sized bed. She was a pint-sized lump beneath the covers, small murmurs and soft sighs alerting him to the restless nature of her slumber.

Clint sat on the bed next to the girl, his brain slow to connect the pale, smooth face to the snarky bastard that was Tony Stark. Curious, he brushed his fingers over the haphazard fringe of hair falling over the girl's forehead. It was soft and fine and silky, a far cry from the coarser, lightweight, wavy hair Clint was used to seeing on Tony's skull.

The girl gasped, jerking her head to the side, and Clint suddenly found himself staring into wide, dark, frightened eyes. The look was so similar to the ones Clint had seen on Stark whenever the man woke from his nightmares that he instantly held his hands out and back, open to prove himself harmless. That was a far cry from the truth, something they both knew, but the girl's eyes suddenly softened in recognition.

"Barton?" a bare breath of the name spoken in a high, weak voice.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured, soft and low. He could not do anything about Natasha, but he was not about to wake Steve and Bruce. Those two were probably more exhausted than the rest of them combined. Thor, of course, would sleep through an explosion during an afternoon nap.

"'s okay," the girl slurred, shifting and glancing around the room to see who was all still there. Clint noticed the IV tube trailing up to the bag hooked over the headboard. He shifted his attention back to the girl, his mind and body already easing in a way he never could have anticipated.

Stark was back, and Clint was torn between cursing him out and smothering him in the world's most awkward hug.

"You okay? Barton?"

Clint had been standing silent for too long. His hesitation had been noticed.

"I am beyond wiped, Stark," he declared. "So you don't get to hold this shit against me later. I am so glad you're back."

"You might as well lay down," the girl's head rolled to the right, indicating the empty space on the bed. "Since everyone else is camping out in here."

It was the best invitation Clint had received in a long while. He quickly removed his boots and slid under the blankets (and he never failed to be amazed at the _quality_ of everything Tony owned), curling up facing Tony but not touching. That was creepy behavior, after all, and he would not indulge beyond that first ill-advised moment of contact while Tony had been sleeping.

No one had told Tony about the creep factor, apparently, because there was suddenly an unfamiliar hand smoothing over Clint's brow and brushing over his cheek. Clint caught the hand, then froze, not quite certain what to do once he had it.

"You need to shave," Tony told him.

"Haven't had the time," he mumbled. He brought his other hand up and clasped Tony's between his palms, momentarily put off by how small it was. Tony's hand should not be that small. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Very definitely not," despite the words, the tone was warm, and it was easy to accept what was said without immediately panicking.

"I'm going to kill whoever did this."

"You won't." Clint blinked, exhausted and confused at the flat declaration. Tony's fingers squeezed his gently. "If anyone dies, I'll be the one to do it. But I don't know if she deserves it yet."

"You'd never make it as an assassin."

"I'm kind of okay with that."

Clint was too. Tony would be a very different person if he was a cold-blooded killer. Sure, the man could be vengeful, but it was all hot temper and simmering anger. Between Clint and Natasha, the Tower had more than enough people willing to kill for no other reason beyond that they were paid to do so.

He was eased by the knowledge that Tony, for all of his different physical attributes, had not actually changed in his time away. Releasing a relieved sigh, he let himself drift off, still clinging to Tony's hand.

* * *

The morning after Tony's return was almost normal. Considering their lives as Avengers (or in Tony's case, as an Avenger, the director of a multibillion dollar corporation, a SHIELD consultant, and an inventor), normal was something that ran on a sliding scale. When their daily tasks sometimes included battling aliens or mutant rabbits, normal was a difficult thing to define.

Hank did another quick checkup of his patient and removed the IV, though he had to wait to approach initially when he found himself facing the business end of Hawkeye's gun. (_"The bow is a long distance weapon. If someone makes it into your bedroom, he's gonna be up close and personal. Better to just shove a gun or a knife in his face."_) Tony had reached up, ever comfortable with his companion's eccentricities, and gently pulled the gun away, handing it over to Bruce, who set it on the nightstand next to the ginger ale. (_"Please don't kill my doctor, Barton."_)

After introductions were made, they got up and went downstairs to the kitchen. It was fairly chaotic.

"Fine, you can have a _little bit_ of butter, but plain dry toast is best for an upset stomach." –Bruce to Tony

"I am not apologizing! If we're going to have strangers in the house, especially big, blue furry ones, someone should tell me! Otherwise, any face I don't know is fair game for threatening." –Clint to Steve

"Would you like the business section?" –Steve to Tony

"Can I have the comics?" –Clint

"This is truly an astounding power you hold. How do you harness the lightning without Mjolnir?" –Thor to Storm

"Shut up and eat the toast." –Natasha to Tony

"Did you leave Cassie tied up all night?" –Steve, very quietly to Natasha

"I should call Charles to give him an update." –Hank

"No! No telepaths in the Tower! I put my foot down!" –Clint

"_My_ Tower." –Tony– "He doesn't like me anyway. He wouldn't come unless it's an emergency."

"Charles does not dislike you. He simply finds your mind exhausting." –Hank

They got into various arguments, nothing malicious, but generally invigorating. Though Hank did comment that he lived in a school, and there was more bickering among the five adults in Avengers Tower than there was among the several dozen students at Xavier's Institute for the Gifted.

"Where's my phone?" Tony asked suddenly. "I need to call Pepper."

Bruce retrieved the phone and tablet from the cupboard where they had been stored when they first discovered Tony was not _their_ Tony.

"You seriously kept this next to the coffee?" Tony asked incredulously. "That's… kind of amazing, actually. They were in good company."

"Try to be gentle," Bruce advised, sliding the items across the counter. "Pepper has not been handling this well."

"I'm still astounded that she hasn't walked yet," Tony replied.

The words were meant to be funny, the tone light-hearted, but those foreign green eyes were shadowed and angry. He tapped the phone and held it up, the video display bringing up Pepper's image as it auto-dialed. She picked up almost immediately, and Tony's face softened.

It was a little odd, because usually when Tony had that expression, he looked fond and shockingly gentle. Now he seemed more frightened and vulnerable, and it was all Bruce could do to stay on his side of the counter. Tony would not appreciate anyone coddling him, of that Bruce was certain.

Pepper's image remained the same, which meant she had answered on her headset.

"Tony! Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm good—well, not good, but—no, never mind that. I had a purpose for calling."

Even in dealing with Pepper, Tony had not changed. Bruce could see everyone in the room relaxing (the Avengers anyway, since Hank and Storm really did not know any better). Yesterday had been pretty horrible, but now Tony was safe and settled in (okay, and sixteen and female) and acting more like himself. Things would be okay.

"I need you to contact that friend of yours—the one in social services," Tony said with the confidence of someone used to giving orders and having them immediately carried out. "Get some of our attorneys involved if need be. I am going to be pressing all sorts of charges against a lot of people, and I need this shit to stick, okay?"

"Tony," Pepper sounded alarmed. "What kind of charges?"

"Assault, child abuse, gross negligence. There's a deputy in La Grande who needs to hang. Okay, I'm pretty sure you have to kill someone to warrant death penalty, but my point stands."

Natasha, Storm and Hank managed not to look at all surprised by this conversation. Steve looked downright horrified, while Clint managed to keep his shock in the slight sag of his jaw. Thor simply looked confused, and Bruce was growing increasingly furious. He… actually, he needed to leave.

"I want you to get the ball rolling. I am taking legal action, and the sooner you can get child protective services here, the better. Wait. Okay, no sooner than tomorrow—"

"I'm going to take a shower," Bruce announced, and fled the room.

Because—damn it!—he had _known_ there was more to this. There was no way Tony came by those bruises with simple rough living. The marks on Tony's wrists and arms were congruent with a person having been violently manhandled. His flinching behavior, the sickness, the desperate tears shed upon returning home—Tony had been brutalized, and they had not been able to prevent it.

This was going to take more than a relaxing shower.

Bruce went down to the containment unit he and Tony had built into the sublevels of the tower. He needed to meditate. Or maybe take a sedative.

* * *

Tony had stopped talking. When Banner left the room, his words trailed off, eyes following the scientist's retreat. Natasha walked up behind Tony and set a hand on his shoulder, not pulling away though Tony jumped.

"Jarvis, monitor Doctor Banner, and let us know if he transforms," Natasha requested.

"Of course, Miss Romanov," Jarvis replied readily.

"Tony?" Pepper asked. Tony looked back at the phone dazedly, pale and a little green. Natasha gently pried the phone from his hand.

"I've got this," she said, not unkindly. Tony nodded and stumbled off down the hall. Natasha held the phone to her ear, the tech automatically shifting from speaker phone to private conversation. She strode out of the room. "Pepper, it's Natasha."

"Oh, my god, Natasha!" Pepper sounded close to tears herself. "What happened to him?"

"Let's get this accomplished and break down later, okay?" Natasha encouraged.

"What… I… I guess…"

"I'm guessing Tony wants Cassie removed from her home in La Grande," Natasha said. "He hasn't told me who yet, but there was sexual assault and physical abuse."

"Oh _god_."

"Hold it together, Pepper."

"I got it," the woman sounded a little strangled, but she was doing well.

"He wants her out, and he wants to press charges for statutory rape and probably generalized physical and psychological abuse."

"He doesn't even have to," Pepper said shakily. "In cases where the victim is underage, the state will do it for them. But it sounds like this wasn't a single person involved. Corrupt law enforcement officers are difficult to pin down. I'll contact the law department immediately. And Matt—he's a defense attorney, but he's one of the best. And he owes Tony a favor."

Natasha had to admit she had the utmost respect for Virginia Potts. After all, anyone who could work for Tony Stark for over ten years, date him, break up with him, and proceed to be his best friend and _still work for him_ was impressive at minimum. She was obviously blessed with superhuman patience and organizational skills.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked reluctantly, because this was Pepper Potts, and Tony would never forgive Natasha if she let this woman go when she was having a breakdown.

"I'm not even close to okay, Natasha," Pepper said, but she sounded rock steady. "You make sure Tony is safe. Make sure that doctor gets him healthy. If you can, get him back to normal. Then, maybe we'll see if I'm okay."

That was fair.

"Okay."

"Thank you, Natasha." Pepper hung up.

It was good timing that their call ended just then. A few seconds later, and Pepper would have heard the angry shout that definitely came from their genius-turned-sixteen-year-old-girl.

"_Get the fuck away from me!_"

Natasha was there in an instant, but so was everyone else. She slipped through the press of bodies (it was like a goddamned rock concert, except she was trying to force her way past a crowd of anxious super heroes instead of a mosh pit) and into the restroom.

Tony had backed himself into the edge of the bathtub, looking ill and angry. From the looks of things, Rogers had tried to help.

Now, of course, Rogers was standing back looking like he realized he had just kicked a puppy. Tony, _the puppy_, had then transformed into a wounded dog that would sooner tear his face off than allow himself to be touched.

Natasha arrived just in time to see the realization strike. Tony was often a source of mingling, transforming emotions, but these ones ran rampant and clear across the pale, thin face. Comprehension, then horror, then humiliation, which was the one that finally stuck.

"Tony," Rogers said cautiously, a man trying to approach a frightened child, "I just want to help."

"Have you never been sick before, boy wonder?" Tony hissed, sinking, curling over his stomach. "I don't need any help. I need some _privacy_."

"I'm sorry." Now the captain was the kicked dog. He slunk back, tail between his legs, glancing guiltily at Natasha as she moved to take his place.

"I got this," Natasha said softly, for the second time that morning. "Steve, would you get a clean toothbrush? He's going to want it."

Rogers looked like he was in agony.

"I didn't mean—"

"I know," Natasha interrupted, voice lowering to something just below a murmur. "He knows too. Don't let the appearance fool you, Cap. That is still Tony Stark. How do you think he'd normally react to your fussing?"

Rogers winced. Natasha lifted an eyebrow, and he sighed, nodding and backing away.

"I'll get the toothbrush," he mumbled.

Natasha followed as Rogers left, frowning at anyone else who looked as though he would attempt to breach the bathroom door, which she shut in their faces. When she turned back to Tony, the billionaire had not recovered much. He was doubled over, clinging to the edge of the tub and generally looking miserable. Much of it looked to be emotional, though Natasha could see the wan edge of physical discomfort.

She crouched down in front of him, very deliberately not making direct contact.

"Do I need to call the doctor in here?" she demanded.

"No more tests. _God_," Tony groaned. "I don't think Dr. McCoy got all the results back yet from the first batch."

"Some take longer than others." Natasha went to the sink and poured a cup of water. She returned and held it out, ignoring his sour look and keeping a steadying hand at the bottom rim. "One bit of good news, though. The pregnancy test came back negative."

Tony looked up, eyes wide and startled and horribly relieved. The breathy laugh that followed was a little bit of relief, a touch of nervousness, and a whole lot of hysteria.

"I never thought I'd have anyone say those words to me," he admitted. "I can't decide if I should be grateful or just pretend that kind of scare was never on the books."

"Grateful now, denial later," Natasha suggested. "But this also means you're actually sick. You should be in bed. Maybe in a hospital."

"I need to get a better medical center brought into the tower," Tony complained. "Let's keep that as a last resort, shall we? You know I can't stand SHIELD medical."

"They're the only ones who can take you unless you manage to find some decent medical coverage in the next few hours," Natasha reminded him unnecessarily. Tony knew all this, and he glared at her for saying it.

"I want to talk to Cassie," he announced.

"You think you can handle it?" Natasha caught his flailing arm and hauled him upright. Tony clung to her hand and pressed his other to his lower abdomen. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Tony snapped.

"Does it hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't ask that. I asked if you were hurting," Natasha said. Tony winced and yanked his hand out of the iron grip Natasha suddenly pressed on his fingers. She ignored the flinch and pressed her fingers to his throat under his jaw.

Tony was clammy, and his pulse was racing.

"Yeah, okay?" he grumbled. "My stomach hurts, and it feels… fucked up, okay? Like it's heavy."

"Are you bleeding?"

"_What?_ No! You think I would hide something like that?" Tony grabbed for the counter, then grimaced and pressed his hand hard into his stomach. "I didn't get stabbed or anything."

"I mean, _are you menstruating_?"

The blank stare she received for that doozy was almost humorous. Natasha felt her lips twitch, but she managed not to smile.

"This is a classic cramping symptom," she explained. "You check while I get you some supplies."

"If you come at me with a box of tampons, I'm going to scream. Like a girl. It will be a less impressive feat right now for obvious reasons, but it'll happen either way," Tony assured her. "And what do you _mean_ 'check'? What the hell am I—you're _kidding_ me. Tell me you're kidding me."

"Relax, Tony," Natasha did smile then, just slightly. She stopped immediately because Tony looked more frightened for it. "I'll get some pads and ibuprofen. You'll be feeling better in no time."

"Natasha…" Tony watched her back through the door with wide, horrified eyes. "Natasha, you're not serious."

"_Check_, Tony," she ordered. "Or we can make this really embarrassing when I help you. Which will it be?"

"Get out, you sadistic witch!" Tony complained. "And you had better bring something strong!"

It would have been funnier if that had not been genuine horror in Tony's eyes. Instead of smirking, she quickly exited the bathroom, nearly colliding with Rogers as she closed the door behind her. He stepped back, looking ridiculous and adorable with those big, anxious blue eyes and a toothbrush in hand.

"Is everything all right?"

"Fine," Natasha snatched the toothbrush. "Where's Storm?"

"In the kitchen with Thor."

Natasha hoped the woman had gotten the supplies she had mentioned earlier.

* * *

End Note: Please read the warnings on the next chapter. I'm lunging into territory that will probably make some people uncomfortable. After the next chapter, it will get better. I promise.


	8. Chapter 7

_Note_: Because of how I initially ended it, I decided it would be kinder to double up on this chapter. So the chapter is longer than usual and launches a bit more heavily into angst territory. I swear I tried to tone it down, and it will get better.

**_**Warnings**_**: This is the chapter I would caution people about. It deals strongly with the rape issue and some of the horrors that can accompany it. Already I noticed some remarks in the reviews that made me think this might upset some people. For those who find this disturbing or _triggering_ as I've seen it put, I would advise against reading this, or at the very least, tread cautiously. I really did not pull any punches.**_  
_**

* * *

He wasn't doing anything right. It seemed that everything he did upset Tony or pissed him off. To be fair, Tony was not dealing well with most of them, but Steve felt a little bit like he was being singled out.

It had started with the billionaire's arrival. Tony had abandoned Steve for Bruce the instant the other scientist was in arm's reach. Steve had accepted it, knowing full well the bond those two shared was more than simple friendship. Tony and Steve were friends. Tony and Bruce were something else entirely. Steve was not sure it could be defined.

What hurt was the fact that Tony seemed to flinch away every time Steve came too close. If he did not initiate the contact, he was not having it. Things had never been this way before. Steve was not sure if it was because of the size difference now, or if Tony was simply afraid of him for some reason he did not yet know.

It was probably petty, certainly it was immature and unworthy of him, but he felt better knowing Tony had full on _fled_ when Henry had inadvertently woken him. Supposedly Tony had known Henry for years, since back before the mutant doctor turned furry and blue, which put him at 'family friend' status.

The satisfied little portion of Steve's ridiculous brain was squashed when he realized Tony _was_ flinching from a family friend. He was jumping every time Clint was unexpectedly close. He even cringed when Natasha touched him without warning.

It was not just him. He knew this—was horribly grateful that he could then draw the conclusion that Tony was not just reacting poorly to Steve—and it worried him. When Tony had spoken with Pepper at breakfast, he wanted to jump in and demand details.

Then, Tony was sick. _Then_, Steve went and got himself exiled while Natasha dealt with bathroom things. It was strange seeing her take on a motherly role like this, but Steve was not going to begrudge either her or Tony this small comfort. He wanted to. He was the leader of the Avengers. Tony should have been able to come to him for anything.

For some reason, Tony could not. He never had been able to. Probably never would. Steve wished this were not so, but they got on like oil and water sometimes. Sure, they were close, but Steve could not deny they fought. Frequently. It was a good thing, since differing opinions often made for conclusions neither of them would have found on their own, but sometimes it hurt.

Like now, when Tony wanted to see the intruder. Steve thought it was a bad idea. Tony barely looked able to stand, let alone deal with a moody teenager who had taken over his body.

"This is _my_ tower, _my_ rooms, and that is _my fucking body!_" Tony's voice rose in an unflattering shriek that even had him wincing. On the plus side, it got him to lower his voice. On the other hand, he was still adamant. "You guys, with all of your intimidation skills, have gotten nothing from her in _four weeks_. I have been stuck like this for that long, and I, for one, am sick of it. Get out of my way."

"You look sick, Tony," Steve tried one more time. "Maybe you should wait until you feel better."

"If I wait, I will dwell, and if I dwell, I will go in there and do something unforgivably violent," Tony said frankly. "Get out of my way, or I will make you."

"You couldn't make me," Steve grumbled, but he moved anyway.

"When I get back into my armor, I will kick your ass for that comment," Tony snapped.

Steve did not say anything, but he knew they all had thought it at one point. _What if Tony was unable to fix this?_ Steve had been the most adamant of all of them, but he was also worried. If they could not fix this, would Tony be able to work the Iron Man armor ever again? How would he deal with it if he could not?

They would cross that bridge when they got there, he supposed, but it still made him uneasy.

In the end, it was decided that Steve and Natasha would be the ones to flank Tony into the room with their intruder. They had respected Cassie's privacy before (somewhat), but Steve knew that if the intruder tried to hide in the bathroom (as was the usual response to anyone but Natasha), they would rip the door off its hinges. Steve would gladly do it.

Surreal was probably the best word Steve could produce to describe the situation as it first happened. The intruder scrambled off the bed, looking a little tousled and bruised—Natasha had lost her temper a bit the previous night—and stared in shock as Tony entered the room.

Tony stared at the teenage girl, who gaped back, and yet it was the girl who was glaring and Stark's face that was pale with shock.

Steve saw the instant the intruder made the decision to rabbit. Tony would have hidden it better. The imposter telegraphed every move, and Steve was between the bathroom and Cassie before a single step could be taken.

"Not this time," he said grimly.

The imposter was over the bed and in the opposite corner before anything else could be said.

"Stay away from me!" Cassie demanded, the order reedy and frightened, even with Tony's deeper register to work with.

Tony didn't move from where he had planted himself, just a few steps into the room. His eyes were tired, Steve thought. This was truly a bad idea. Tony was not up to the stress of this. Natasha shot him a warning look, and he held his tongue.

"I learned quite the lesson this past month, Cassie," Tony said abruptly.

The imposter looked up, confusion sliding across the billionaire's unshaven face (perhaps four days since the last shave, from the looks of things). The real Tony tilted his borrowed head, eyes taking in what was certain to be a bizarre sight for him. Seeing himself cowering in a corner had to be disturbing. Tony, on the other hand, a sick, petite teenage girl, was the picture of control.

"I came up with all sorts of reasons those first few days," Tony mused. "I thought someone was playing a trick on me. Or trying to teach me some sort of lesson without telling me the objective. Or maybe, just maybe, I was insane. Maybe I really _was_ some teenage girl in Hicktown, USA with the family from hell. Maybe I had created this fantasy life where I was a rich man. But my mind is that messed up, because in my fantasy, I had a father who didn't much care for me, a business partner who tried _twice_ to kill me, and a _fucking electromagnet_ in my _chest_ that nearly killed me while it tried to save me."

Cassie flinched and pressed back into the corner, looking on in sick horror. It was rather like passing a dead animal on the street. As much as you didn't want to see it, you found yourself staring at it anyway.

"But then, I decided I didn't care what the reason was," Tony shrugged off the momentary anger, his thin brows furrowing in something approximating concentration. "Even if I really was some girl named Cassie Morgan, I had to get out. It took a bit, but I left that shithole behind and got here, because even if I really wasn't Tony Stark, I knew the people here would help me. Because _that's what they do_."

Cassie was going to cry. Steve was certain of it. That brat borrowing Tony's body was going to start blubbering, and it irked him. She had created this mess. She did not deserve the hurt tears.

"And that's what I am going to do."

Steve met Natasha's eyes and knew, in her single raised eyebrow, that they were both shocked. The first thought that flew through his mind was: _Say what?_

Tony stepped around the side of the bed but stopped, not quite approaching the imposter. He looked at Cassie, at the girl masquerading as a man, and his eyes were tired. They were also compassionate. It was a look Steve did not often associate with Tony. Tony Stark was many things, but he was usually more of an avenging angel than a kindhearted one.

"I've already started the ball rolling," Tony told the silent intruder. "You will get to see what the law, with all the financial backing of one of the richest men in the country, can do to your family. I hope that's what you wanted, because I'm not asking permission. As far as I'm concerned, you gave me that when you put me in your skin."

"I don't understand." Cassie looked to Natasha, then back at Tony. The fear was fading—apparently their intruder was starting to realize they were not out to hurt him…her—but the suspicion remained.

"I'm putting them in prison," Tony said bluntly. "Your uncle. Your mother. The town's deputy. Possibly your father. And if the law fails me, you can bet I've got friends who won't."

Steve did not much like the sound of that, but Natasha's lip curled, and he knew what would happen. He had not decided yet if he would let it. If he even had any say in it.

"You're saying you'd kill them," Cassie breathed.

"Accidents happen all the time," Tony said quietly. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. First off, you have to tell me something. And you _will_ tell me. I think I've earned the right to your candor."

"My what?" That stupid look did not belong on Tony Stark's face. Steve hated it. A lot.

"Just answer me truthfully," Tony ordered. "If we switch back, will you cooperate with the authorities and tell them everything those people did to you?"

Cassie's immediate response was panic.

"I can't go back there!"

"You're not going back," Tony said bluntly. "I worked too hard to get out, and they don't get their daughter back. But you have to talk to social services, or this won't work."

"I don't… I don't understand!"

"I want my life back!" Tony snarled suddenly. "I will give you _everything_! Just tell me how to do it!"

There was something wrong. Steve could see it going south, and it was not because of Cassie's dumb reluctance. It was in the sudden pallor of Tony's face, the slick-sweat darkening his hair and making it stick to his face. It was in the clench of his fingers to his gut, like someone attempting to hold back the flow of blood from a brutal wound.

"Something's wrong," Natasha snapped, and they were both moving.

Cassie flinched back when Steve launched himself over the bed, landing between her and Tony. It was the exact same reaction Tony had whenever he approached too quickly, and knowing it left Steve momentarily breathless with a terrible mix of horror and rage.

Those people had done something so awful that it had _damaged_ Tony psychologically. He was reacting to people the way an abused teenage girl did. Steve was suddenly very okay with whatever Natasha had planned for them.

Tony was doubled over, eyes and teeth clenched in pain. His breath came in rapid, hissing pants as he flailed out and caught Steve's forearm, squeezing hard and letting Steve catch his weight.

"It hurts," he groaned.

"You're bleeding through," Natasha said quietly. "That's too much blood in too short a time for a normal cycle."

"_What?_" Tony clutched at his stomach and did not complain when Steve scooped up the small body. He gasped for breath, looking to Natasha with confusion and the beginnings of dread in his eyes.

"Cassie!" Natasha barked. "Do you usually bleed heavily? On your period!"

The imposter quailed beneath the combined glares of Captain America and the Black Widow.

"This is _important,_ Cassie!"

"I-I… I mean, I don't—" the intruder clutched at her hair (at _Tony's_ shaggy hair) and shook her head wildly.

"_Cassie!_"

"No! I mean, not like that!"

"We're taking Tony to the hospital," Natasha ordered. Steve did not have to be told twice. He was heading toward the door, carefully cradling his hurting friend, and terrified because Tony was not making some snide comment about this.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked as Natasha opened the door for them to walk through and then closed it, locking it behind them.

"I think Beast was right," Natasha said, grimly leading them down the hallway toward the elevator. Henry was probably up in Bruce's lab. He had said he needed to monitor all their tests. "The test read negative, but I bet it wouldn't have a week ago. The girl isn't on her menstrual cycle. This looks like a miscarriage."

Tony uttered a sound that nearly drove Steve to his knees. It was a blend of bewilderment and anger and true terror. Natasha turned and touched Tony's face in a shockingly gentle manner.

"It happens, Tony," Natasha said, quiet and confident. "More often than you probably realize. But you need to be monitored at a hospital. Cap, get Clint to drive you guys to SHIELD. I'll get Beast and meet you there."

Steve was too confused and worried to do anything more than blindly obey. He got into the elevator. Natasha reached in and pushed the right floor, and then she was gone, presumably taking the stairs.

He looked at Tony, who seemed to have gone into a state of shock. The pallid face was still and caught in an expression of numb confusion. Steve was not sure if it was because of the blood loss—of which there was some; he could see trace amounts on the baggy pants—or if it was knowledge of the malady.

Clint was on his feet the instant Steve carried Tony into the main living room.

"What's wrong?" Clint demanded.

"Tony needs a hospital. I need you to take us to SHIELD medical," Steve said.

"What the fuck happened?" Clint was growing angry. It was the wrong response. Steve needed urgency. A bit of fear and maybe some righteous anger was okay. But this vivid rage was unexpected and unhelpful. "_ROGERS!_"

"I don't know," Steve snapped. "Natasha said she thinks it's a miscarriage—"

"Jesus _fucking_ _Christ!_" Clint snatched up his jacket and was at the elevator beside Steve in an instant. "_Goddamn_ it, Tony! Why didn't you tell us!"

Tony flinched, and suddenly there were tears. Steve held the frail body closer, terrified by this reaction, and not knowing quite what else to do when Tony turned into his shoulder.

"How could he have known?" Steve snapped, angry at Clint now for having caused this.

"Don't you know what a miscarriage is?" Clint snarled. "It's what happens when a pregnancy is spontaneously rejected! It _means_, Captain, that Tony was fucking _raped_, because he sure as hell wouldn't have had sex like this otherwise!"

Tony's entire body heaved, and then Steve heard him screaming. Horrified but unable to do anything but hold the shaking form, Steve listened as Tony muffled the howls in his shoulder.

Clint looked ill. He choked off whatever else he had been wanting to say and led them out of the elevator toward the garage. Steve did not even complain when Clint picked out one of the fastest looking cars and hopped in.

Tony could be angry at them later. For now, he was still shouting himself hoarse, his hand digging into Steve's shirt with such force that he was probably bruising the skin beneath. Steve was not bothered by the pain. Knowing what Tony had suffered made it hard to even feel the pinching.

"We should have been looking."

Steve barely realized he was speaking. Clint glanced at him, then threw the car into gear and pealed out of the parking lot much faster than was remotely safe. Steve braced against the door and held Tony tight, his hand cradling the skull as Tony tried to smother himself in Steve's shirt. It obviously was not working. Tony still had enough breath to continue his broken wailing.

"We knew it wasn't Tony—knew it for weeks. We should have been out looking."

"We didn't know he was alive, let alone in some girl's body," Clint gripped the wheel, white knuckles jutting out in stark relief as he tapped the horn and swerved around a car that was not moving nearly fast enough. "And if we had known, what do you think we would have found? Nowheresville, Oregon? It's a big country, Cap. With the brat not talking, we had no idea where to start. He's not blaming you, so stop blaming yourself."

It was hard to take heart in those words when the small body in his arms was working its hardest to shake apart at the seams. Tony seemed to have given up on the shouting, but that was a small comfort. Steve combed his fingers through the silky hair, hating that it wasn't _Tony's_ hair but doing it anyway.

"Keep him breathing into your shirt," Clint's grim order had Steve's hand twitching in surprise. "He's hyperventilating."

Which was how Steve found himself muttering soothing nonsense at the person who Steve had thought incapable of producing tears, let alone breaking down into hysterics. It was possibly just the hormonal female body, but that did not make this any less difficult to hear. Nor did it make the hysteria any less real. It just meant that Tony was displaying his distress in a manner other than frightening calm, which also did not make it less frightening.

The murmurs did not help. They _certainly_ did not help when the car screeched to a stop in front of SHIELD medical. The instant Tony caught a glimpse of the building, he latched onto Steve, arms tight behind Steve's neck with the obvious intent of not letting go anytime soon.

"Tony, you need to let the doctors look at you."

Tony's head shook in wild denial, his voice lifting in wordless panic when a nurse pulled at his arms. The nurse jerked away, partly from the startled shriek and partly because of the dark look Steve shot her.

Clint muttered with another nurse, and they stopped trying to pull Tony away. Steve was hustled into the clinic and into an emergency examination area. Again, Tony refused to let go when Steve attempted to put him on the bed.

"Don't leave me," Tony gasped, clinging with all his might. "Don't you dare leave me here with them."

Steve barely noticed the needle. Tony didn't see it until far too late. Had it been a nurse wielding the syringe, he might have recoiled in time, but it was Clint who snatched it up and jabbed it into Tony's thigh, emptying the thing with a brutal press of the plunger.

Tony released a shocked sound, eyes searching for the culprit. Steve winced and tried to untangle suddenly clumsy fingers from his shirt as he settled Tony onto the gurney.

"You're going to be okay," he promised. Tony's red-rimmed eyes were so wrought with fear that Steve could not just let it be. He cradled Tony's face, his hand startlingly large against the warm face—_fever_, his mind whispered—and reassured him. "I won't leave you alone. Natasha will be here soon, with Henry, okay?"

"Broo… shh," Tony stumbled over the word, too heavy on the first part and lisping through the end of it. Steve recognized the name.

"I'll call him," he said instantly. "I'll get him here."

Tony shook his head drunkenly. He wanted to say more. Steve could see it in the frustrated eyes. But the sedative was strong, and he was losing the battle. His hand came up again, reaching blindly. Steve caught the hand and smoothed back Tony's hair.

Impulsively, Steve pressed his lips to the clammy forehead, seeking to soothe himself as much as Tony. When he pulled back, he had to wonder if it had helped or hurt. Tony's eyes were shut, and there was a tear sliding down his cheek.

"It'll be fine," Clint said, pulling him back as the gurney, with Tony on it, was rolled further into the building. "Very few people actually die from this."

"I said I'd stay," Steve said. "I need you to get Bruce."

"He seemed pretty edgy this morning," Clint winced. "Maybe I should bring a sedative for _him_."

"He's been pretty good about knowing what he can and can't handle lately," Steve said dully. He felt drugged himself. The adrenaline and fear was wearing off, leaving weary anxiety. It had been a long couple of days. A long month, really. "Clint, what the hell are we going to do?"

Clint looked at him, surprise on his face. It was probably the shock of Captain America asking for his advice. But Steve had no one else to ask. The person he usually went to was unconscious on a gurney somewhere in SHIELD medical.

"Nothing," Clint said frankly.

Steve frowned.

"You yelled at him for not telling us."

"Well, yeah," Clint snorted. "But let's be honest, Rogers. What the hell do either of us know about this shit? Nat's been taking care of it. She's doing a good job, too."

Natasha's behavior suddenly made sense. The protective streak she had suddenly developed, along with the physically affectionate displays and calm control over any situation where Tony was concerned. She knew. She had probably known about all of this since sending Steve on a supply run the previous afternoon.

"I'll get Banner."

Steve nodded numbly. There was not much else he say that would help this situation. He did not even watch Clint leave. Determined to keep his promise, he marched over to the nurse's station to find where Tony had been taken.

* * *

Bruce was holding up surprisingly well. Of course, Clint had not been worried. Bruce had the self-control of a saint.

Okay, so maybe he had retrieved Thor before going to tell Bruce the news, but that was just common sense. Bruce had not had an 'incident' in weeks. He had not lost control and transformed for a much longer time than that. Clint was only taking precautions because Bruce had looked a little freaked out earlier.

"I knew something like this had happened," Bruce had admitted when Clint told him Tony was in the hospital as well as Natasha's theory as to why they brought him there. "The bruising, his clinging—I've seen that kind of behavior too many times not to know."

"He's only clinging to you, Bruce," Clint had told him smartly. "You do realize that, right? He's taking help from Nat, and letting everyone else fawn over him, but he's always looking to you."

"Anthony and Doctor Banner share a bond deeper than that of mere friends," Thor had then pronounced in his usual grand manner.

"You heard it here first," Clint had been unable to keep his sharp tongue quiet at that. At least it was Bruce. If it had been Tony, he would have expected a snide retort. Bruce had just sighed and collected his jacket.

Which brought them to SHIELD, waiting outside the emergency surgery with Storm and Steve, the latter of whom had been ejected when Natasha arrived with Beast.

Clint had to admit he was shocked that Tony was friendly with the great, blue-furred mutant. Tony struck him as the type of guy who had not ventured outside his social circles much. But then, he had known Beast since when the man was merely Henry McCoy, super-smart scientist with big hands and feet. As much of an asshole as Tony could be, he was not the type of person to dismiss a man simply because he turned into a blue chia pet.

Now, Beast was the only doctor in there who knew that the girl they were treating was not, in fact, Cassie Morgan. Natasha must have arrived shortly after Clint left, or Steve would have still been trying to explain how Tony Stark was involved. It was best for all involved if Stark's name just did not arise. As far as the SHIELD doctors knew, this was just a girl they had picked up who may or may not have some latent mutant abilities. (And if they were testing for the X-gene, well it was just too bad that they were getting a negative result.)

It was only a couple hours later that Beast and one of the SHIELD doctors came out to talk to them. Clint was not one hundred percent certain, but he thought he recognized that doctor. Saunders or something similar. Clint had been in medical a lot.

"Is he okay?" Steve asked instantly. He was a little sore at being thrown out of the room. Clint casually dug his elbow into Steve's side, which did nothing to hurt the super soldier but alerted him to his error. "I mean Cassie. Is _Cassie_ okay?

"The anesthesiologist is taking her out of sedation right now," the doctor told them, unperturbed by both Steve's stumble and the large, blue-furred man beside him. Yeah. Definitely Saunders. "We put her on antibiotics to combat the infection, and she'll be weak for a while, but she should be fine in a few days."

"What happened?" Bruce inquired.

"Your friend, Miss Romanov, was correct," Beast said.

"Fuck," Clint growled.

"How did it get that bad?" Bruce ignored Clint's cursing, pressing for the important information. "I know it's never pleasant, but I was under the impression that a miscarriage had fewer symptoms."

"We think Miss Morgan miscarried several days ago," Saunders explained. "Sometimes in cases like this, where it's later in the first trimester, the body won't expel the dead embryo on its own. It remains trapped in the uterus, which creates opportunities for infection."

Clint cringed. Everyone else was flinching too. It was hard not to. The description was gruesome and, well, just plain gross.

"We cleared the uterus," Saunders continued, plowing forward despite the discomfort of the mostly male audience. "Between that and the antibiotics, Miss Morgan should be feeling better in no time."

"Can you run a DNA test?" Bruce demanded quietly. "On the aborted fetus. Is there enough for a parental DNA test?"

"Oh. Uh…"

"I'll take over from here, Doctor," Beast said politely. "I'm sure you have other patients with whom you need to contend."

It was a coldly polite dismissal if Clint ever heard one. Saunders looked pretty startled. But hearing that kind of comment from a large man with blue fur and a mouthful of predator's teeth tended to make a person listen. The other doctor nodded, passed the file to Beast, and made a quick retreat.

"There are cameras," Clint remarked. "A lot of them."

"Fury's going to find out sooner or later," Bruce murmured distractedly. "Hank, you should have told us you were running a pregnancy test."

"My apologies, Bruce, but Anthony requested that I keep it quiet unless it came back positive," Beast said. "However, I felt it unwise for him to deal with it alone. I brought Miss Romanov into our confidence."

"If it was _late_ first trimester, then conception was before this mix up," Bruce abruptly changed tactics. Clint frowned. Did that mean…? Maybe Tony hadn't been—

"As far as I am aware, no one else knew," Beast said, baring his impressive canines in a grimace. "If you're hoping the assault never happened to Anthony, you're unfortunately mistaken. He has already confirmed it."

Clint was not sure legal action would be enough for this crew. He knew it really was not enough for him. The instant he knew who had done this to Tony, that bastard was going to suffer.

"He always has played his cards close to his chest," Beast sighed. "Right now, he's battling an infection and what looks to be a strain of the flu virus."

"What caused the miscarriage?" Clint demanded. Not that he wanted Tony to have to figure out how to deal with a teenage girl's pregnancy firsthand, but somehow this seemed worse.

"There are numerous factors," Beast said, which meant to Clint that he was only guessing. "The most common reasons are a defect in the mother's body or a defect in the fetus's chromosomes. Cassie Morgan is perfectly healthy otherwise, so it is likely the latter. I am guessing now, but I would imagine it was caused by the combination of the stress—both physical and emotional—of crossing the country as well as the fact that the father was most likely too closely related to produce a viable offspring."

Clint saw red.

"Say that again." That was Steve, sounding more dangerous than Clint had ever heard him sound. Bruce was employing deep breathing techniques. Thor's hand was solid on Bruce's shoulder.

"Most often, in cases like this, the culprit is a brother, an uncle, or even the father," Beast said gently. "Human beings rarely are capable of producing healthy offspring with their own relatives. It's probably a blessing that the pregnancy aborted."

"This is a vile thing," Thor declared, his anger clear in his eyes. "I find it appalling that anyone could commit such a sin."

"Please contain yourselves," Beast pleaded. "Justice comes when we find the culprit. For now, Anthony will need your support, not your anger."

Clint reached out and clasped Bruce's forearm, looking over and seeing the muted rage in those green-tinged eyes.

Yeah. There would be blood spilled before this thing was over.

* * *

Natasha stayed with Tony the rest of the day. Considering the intrusiveness of the procedure, he was handling this very well. Natasha suspected things would be different if he had not been sedated through the worst of it, but she imagined he was feeling it now.

Of course, he had not reacted well to sedation. An hour later, he was still struggling to keep the contents of his stomach down. So perhaps he was too focused on his nausea to be bothered with anything else.

"I hate this body so much," Tony moaned after the latest bout of vomiting. Natasha held a glass of water, and he sipped from the straw. After a rinse and spit, he swallowed some of the water gratefully.

"She seems to have a weak constitution," Natasha agreed.

It hardly seemed possible, but Tony looked worse now than he had when they brought him in. There were deep circles around his eyes, and his face was pasty and tinting toward gray. He kept drifting in and out of consciousness, a blink lasting anywhere from a second to twenty minutes. When he came back out, he reacted as though no time had passed, genuinely confused when he discovered the time.

A few hours later, it seemed as though the worst of the sedation was wearing off. Tony sank back to the pillows, his hand automatically finding Banner's head and resting in the lank hair.

None of them looked all that pretty that evening. Banner looked particularly haggard, though he was sleeping as much as Tony. A heavy dose of valium ensured that.

"Does Fury know yet?" Tony asked, gazing at his hand as he prodded through Banner's hair, picking up a lock and pushing it back absentmindedly.

"Most likely," Natasha picked up her book and sat back after trading out bins with a nurse. She was beginning to have hope that the sickness was going away, but she would not be caught unprepared. "I don't think he'll make an appearance though. The last time he interfered with us, Rogers put him in his place."

Tony's lips pulled up in a tired smirk.

"I would've paid to see that. Is anyone with Cassie?"

"Thor and Storm."

Thor was enraptured by the weather-controlling mutant. Once certain he would not be needed to help contain the Hulk (since Banner agreed and submitted to sedation on the condition that he be put in Tony's room), Thor had agreed to head back to the tower to make certain Cassie did not starve or do something foolish while the team was away.

"I don't understand what you're doing with her. Will you truly help her if she tells you how to get back to normal?"

Tony sighed. It looked like it took great effort to roll his head on the pillow to look at her, but he did it anyway.

"I would like to say I'll help her either way, but I honestly don't know what to do if she refuses to cooperate," he admitted. "It's one thing for me to try to carry on a normal life like this, but it's another thing entirely to know my face is still there, a mask on a teenage girl who can't make it through high school remedial math."

Natasha felt herself smirking.

"You went to high school?"

Tony grimaced.

"I didn't have much choice in the matter," he grumbled. "They thought I was her, and I had no way to explain myself without sounding like _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_. It was exceedingly dull."

"You did the homework and everything?"

He shot her a sour look.

"If you really want me to complete the plebeian image, you might be pleased to know that I spent my evenings and weekends working at their family diner," he told her. "It was a blast serving dinners to people while managing crutches, by the way."

"I hope you got paid."

"Yeah." Teenagers' faces really were well suited to expressing sarcasm. It came across better than when Tony was normal. "I got to keep living under their roof."

Natasha did not press for more. She could already see the darkness sliding behind Tony's eyes, moving forward. Silence was one of the best responses she could have offered with Stark. He would shake himself out of his own funk. At least, he would try.

"The teachers knew something was up before anyone else did," Tony said abruptly, a half smile on a pale face. "Cassie's not much of a student, and they were not particularly supportive."

"What did you do?" Natasha asked heavily. Tony smirked.

"You ask that like it's automatically my fault," he said, not really complaining. "That teacher was a bitch, so you know. She had it coming."

Natasha could not quite contain the smirk that tugged her lips up. Banner grunted and shifted under Tony's hand, derailing their conversation. Then, he opened his eyes and spoke with a tongue made heavy by sedation.

"She had what coming?"

"Eavesdropper," Tony said fondly. Banner did not protest the fingers teasing through the hair at his temples. Natasha found the familiar behavior interesting. Tony was not usually so blatantly physical with his affection. "Nothing much. I told her I had a math problem that was giving me trouble. She liked to humiliate her students into learning, so she asked me to put it on the board."

"I can't imagine you having trouble with high school math," Banner slurred, struggling to wake fully.

"I wasn't even having trouble with the problem I gave her," Tony retorted. "She just pissed me off. So I asked her to tell me how much I would have to spend to launch one of my satellites into geosynchronous orbit."

"Rocket science. I bet that went over well."

"She sent me to the principal's office," Tony admitted. "Not one of my better moments."

"You're saying you didn't spend most of your childhood years in the principal's office?" Natasha mocked.

"Are you kidding?" Tony snorted. "I'm Tony Stark. Even as a kid that meant something."

"You were a model student, weren't you?" Banner asked. Tony twitched.

"Once they started letting me learn at my own pace," he mumbled. He glanced at Natasha. "When am I going to be let out of this place? I hate it here."

"When Beast clears you," Natasha replied. "It's only been twenty minutes since the last time you threw up. Give yourself time to recover."

"I am not staying here overnight."

"It's after ten already," Natasha told him. "Just try to get some sleep. The sooner you recover, the sooner we can get you back up and running."

"And Cassie?" Tony demanded. "We're just making her cool her heels in the guest bedroom until I feel better?"

"That's been her home for the past month," Banner said quietly. "A couple more days won't make any difference."

"She just saw someone wearing her face collapse," Tony snapped. "It makes a huge difference. You seriously kept her locked up in that tiny room all month?"

"Having her out and about upset the others." They looked up when Rogers walked into the room. He looked tired but better than anyone else. The serum did much to keep the man up and running when everyone else was dropping from exhaustion. "I felt it wise to keep her someplace where she could not cause trouble or be hurt when someone decided she was too irritating to live with."

"No wonder she won't talk to you," Tony sighed.

"You forget." Banner was more alert now, and he reached out to tap at the center of Tony's chest, where the arc reactor would be if it had been his body instead of the girl's. "We have to look at that face and try to think it's not you. Every time she spoke, I wanted to hit her, but I couldn't because it was your face."

Tony sighed again, eyelids drooping. It was amazing he had remained conscious so long. Still, Natasha was not entirely sure he was going to sleep now.

"I want her brought here," he said, voice dimming as he drifted. "I don't care what you have to do to get it done. I need her, and I need Pepper. We're going to make this happen."

"And if she refuses to help?"

"Then we find out what the hell she did and reverse it ourselves," Tony declared.

Natasha looked at Rogers. He considered Tony for a brief moment before looking to Banner. The scientist's lips were pursed in annoyance, but he lifted his eyes and nodded.

A day ago Natasha would have thought this was a bad idea. Now, after having seen Tony's interaction with Cassie, she thought it was better than doing nothing. If anyone could talk someone into doing something they did not want to do, it was Tony Stark.

* * *

Natasha did not want to talk to Cassie. The last time they had spoken she had snarled at the girl. Before that, Natasha had responded to the suicide threat by tying her to the bed.

She had uncuffed the irritant a few hours later. It was not out of sympathy. She just knew the threat had been empty, and that she did not want to clean up when the body finally gave way to nature's needs. No one could go that long without using a restroom.

It was rather awkward slinking into the room, knowing her cover as the sympathetic friend had long since been blown.

Somehow it was worse now, seeing Stark's face looking back at her with that sleepy, mistrustful frown.

Before the Avengers business, Stark did not trust Natasha even slightly. Her fault. The combination of her lies and her association with Nick Fury had clinched it. Fortunately for the Avengers, Tony was not the type to let grudges stand in the way of saving the world. Nor did he let it prevent him from giving Natasha a second chance to prove they were on the same side. If he had, she would not be living with the rest of them at Avengers Tower.

Still, that look was wrong on his face. Stark was a pro at hiding his feelings from the press. When he did not like someone, his face went carefully blank. There was no frowning, no sidelong glares when he thought no one was looking. There was a media smile, a solid handshake, and (so long as anyone remotely related to the press was far out of hearing distance) a frank declaration of how horrible you were. Tony Stark was nothing if not straightforward with people he disliked.

Stark still occasionally gave Natasha that look.

With Tony in the medical wing of SHIELD, it was more irritating than ever to stare at his face and know it wasn't him. Especially when that person was hugging a blanket to his chest and twisting his face into an unfamiliar expression, glaring warily through his eyes.

Tony wanted Cassie kept safe and unharmed. That meant Natasha had to play nice.

"Tony wants to talk to you," she told the cowering girl flatly. "We're transferring you back to SHIELD."

The fear melted away in a wash of concern. Natasha felt herself frowning now, uncomprehending of this reaction.

"Is she okay?" Cassie asked anxiously.

"He," Natasha corrected. "Tony being stuck in your body makes him no more a girl than you being in his body makes you male." She paused, then met Cassie's stare, not quite sure what else to say to that undisguised anxiety. "And yes, he'll be fine."

"Should I uh… I haven't showered yet today."

"I'm sure we'd all appreciate you cleaning up," Natasha said wryly. "I'll wait outside. Knock when you're ready to go."

"Right," Cassie slid out of bed, going for the drawer of sweatshirts and running pants that had been her wardrobe for the past month. She paused in the act of pulling out a hoodie. "But he's okay."

"You're just going to have to talk to him and find out," Natasha declared. She did not have the patience for this. "Bring a toothbrush and another change of clothes. You may have to spend the night. I'll leave a bag by the door."

Cassie nodded and hurried into the bathroom.

* * *

Note: Breathe out. Nothing else will be this gritty.


	9. Interlude: Tony

Notes: The reactions to the last chapter are unbelievably interesting. I expected to lose quite a few readers, to be perfectly honest, considering what I did. Plus, the variety of reactions to Cassie is great. It's such a human response to either hate, feel annoyed by or sorry for someone like that, and the fact that I'm getting all of the responses is exceedingly cool.

Warnings: This one's pretty safe, especially when compared to previous chapters.

* * *

Tony stared at Cassie. For the briefest of moments, back when he first saw her, he thought he was dealing with a mutant. Mystique, if recalled his SHIELD Intel. (Well, the Intel he had hacked from SHIELD's database, back when he was first deciding whether or not Fury was someone he wanted to work with. He was pretty sure Fury knew about it, but there wasn't much ol' Cyclops could do about it.)

But this wasn't the shapeshifter. This was his body, looking at him anxiously. A doppelganger that could not quite get the mannerisms down. He never wore his heart on his sleeve quite like that. Sometimes he did, but not with strangers. He could count on one hand the people who he trusted enough to bare himself like that.

Pepper. Rhodey—sometimes. Obie—once upon a time. Bruce. Maybe Steve, if the situation was right.

None of them were in the room now. They were not happy about it, but Tony did not care. This was his body, his life, _his goddamn choice_. He had earned this.

"I… I'm glad you're feeling better."

Even the inflection was wrong. Tony had heard enough interview playbacks to know what he sounded like, and that was not it. He had not sounded that young even when he _was_ sixteen. At sixteen he was trying far too hard to fit in with the twenty-two-year-olds in his classes. Sounding like some kid barely past puberty was not an option.

He supposed he was feeling better. The fever had gone down, and he had not thrown up since the previous night. After a solid ten hours of sleep and a less than fulfilling meal of buttered toast and apple juice, he felt like he might be able to make a trip to the bathroom without needing to lean on someone.

He stared at Cassie, sizing her up. Because, as he had already noted, this person was not on the list of people he truly trusted. He did not know what she was going to do.

"No one would tell me what happened," Cassie mumbled, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Tony tracked the movement, not happy with the knot of unease that settled in his gut. Nervous behavior like that—it made him edgy. Lately, a lot of the people who had acted like that around him had behaved in ways he had not liked.

It sent a flash of an idea through his mind, a horrible one. The thought of himself, of his body, suddenly lunging at him, attacking him, holding him down. Was Cassie frightened enough to go on the offense?

Tony shoved the thought away ruthlessly.

"Have a seat," he suggested.

Thankfully, Cassie took him up on the offer and sat carefully on the chair beside the bed. Natasha's chair. When Natasha was in the room, no one else sat in that chair. Tony was grateful for the attention, he supposed, but it still felt awkward.

"I know you made this happen, Cassie," he said bluntly.

Cassie flinched, ducking down, hiding behind a fringe of too-long hair. Next order of business when they got out of here—get the hair dresser to come in. His face was not meant to sport the grunge look.

"Did you know you were pregnant when you did it?" he asked finally.

Tony had felt plenty of shame in his lifetime. Despite his wild public life pre-Iron Man, he was a very proud man. He did not embarrass easily, but there were things that could make him feel the way Cassie looked just now. He was just certain he had never expressed it to the extent that Cassie was. He was not really the type to bury his face in his hands like that.

Cassie nodded.

"I didn't know what to do," she whispered. "Everything was so horrible. Then you came through town with your limo and your driver." Tony almost flinched at the agony shining from his own eyes, Cassie's pain, his face. "You had everything! You had no idea what you had! You were such a stuck-up son of a bitch! I thought… I just thought if anyone…"

"You thought you would appreciate it more than I could," Tony concluded. It was not a difficult leap of logic.

"I didn't think… I didn't mean for you to be hurt!" Cassie blurted. "I just… I couldn't be there anymore. I can't go back."

Tony sighed.

"I wasn't lying, kid," he said sternly. He was well aware of how odd the statement sounded coming from the mouth of a teenage girl, rebuking someone who, for all appearances, was Tony Stark. By this point, he just did not care about outward appearances. "I won't let it happen. If I have to foster you here, I'll do it. Can't say I'd make much of a dad, though."

"Probably better than mine."

"Kid, _Hitler_ was a better father than yours."

That earned a puzzled look.

"Didn't he, like… kill a lot of people?"

"Doesn't mean he didn't care for his family," Tony countered. "And don't do that. You make me sound like a valley girl."

"Valley girl…?"

"I am not explaining it," Tony retorted. "Look, kid. This is important. I need you to listen and answer honestly, because this won't work otherwise."

Cassie nodded earnestly. Tony tried not to let it happen, but his hopes were rising.

"Your cooperation with social services is imperative," he told her. "If we switch back, and you suddenly clam up about all this, it will become exceedingly difficult for me to protect you. I'm talking coming clean with them. Telling them what your family did to you—your uncle specifically."

"Oh, my god," Cassie breathed. "Did he… did you—?"

He did not want to think about this. Tony closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his mouth. That was behind him.

"Yes," he stated, looking directly into Cassie's horrified face. _His_ face. Damn it. It was like talking to a mirror whose reflection spoke back in a poor imitation of his voice. "I need to know, Cassie. Will you cooperate?"

"You want me to tell them _everything?_"

"If you don't, I will," he murmured.

The rage was still there, simmering beneath the surface. Tony understood what Bruce meant when he said he was always angry. The very circumstances of Bruce's life were maddening enough. Tony hated to think it, but it was a good thing he wasn't the one who changed into the Hulk. His emotions were difficult to contain on a normal day. He wore a good mask, but he was volatile. He would explode every other day. Right now, he was filled with so much hatred for so many people. That was going to come out sooner or later, but for now he just shoved it aside.

"We've got DNA evidence that will ensure Danny goes to prison for a long time," he said. Hank really was one of the best people to have on his side when it came to DNA testing. "Your parents are going to be harder, but I'd be willing to bet that Danny will incriminate them."

"You'd really do that," Cassie looked shocked. "You'd… be me. And testify against them."

Tony wanted to say no. He wanted to tell her that he couldn't do it. He could not take this anymore. But the truth was that he could. He could, and he would.

"If that's what it takes," he said softly. It hurt to say it, because he knew what that would mean.

"Why?" It was a little disconcerting to be on the receiving end of that intensely focused stare. Tony knew he could make that expression, could probably do a better job of it, and he had many fond memories of those times when Clint or Steve went skittering away because they could not handle the look. He almost understood it now, having Cassie pin him with that direct stare. "You barely know me."

"Kid, I don't think anyone is quite as intimate with you as I have been the past month," he said wearily.

Damn it, he was getting tired again. The day had barely begun, but this body was struggling to recover from too much. He shifted, winced as the aches of the previous day's procedure made themselves known, and sagged back against the pillows.

"Here's the short of it: If you would have come up to me asking for help when I passed through that postage stamp of a town, I would have been on the phone with my assistant two seconds later asking what the hell I could do about it. I might not have handled things personally, because—let's face it, you're right—I didn't know you." Cassie's eyes were painfully wide. Tony didn't even know his eyes could get that large. "But I wouldn't walk away from a girl who told me her mom hit her, her dad shoved her around, her uncle _fucked_ her, and the town deputy knew about it and didn't give a flying fuck. Now, of course, having been on the receiving end of that treatment, I'm feeling a little vengeful, so yeah. I'm handling it."

"Are you okay?"

"Don't ask that question," Tony cracked an eye to glare at his doppelganger. Cassie. At _Cassie_. Jesus. His mind was drifting. He grimaced and looked away. "If someone looks like shit, they probably feel like shit."

There was a long silence. Tony tried not to let it bother him. He was always hurting people's feelings, and now he was verbally assaulting a teenager. A teenage abuse victim no less.

Well, fuck it. He was on even footing here. She could deal.

"I wasn't trying to teach you a lesson," Cassie said, voice dipping into a lower, more familiar register. Tony blinked, cursing the body, its strange hormones, and his own inability to control the emotions. "I'm sorry."

The tears drained down his face unchecked. He half hoped that they would go unnoticed if he ignored them. Maybe they would have, but he failed to control his breathing. His chest heaved as he struggled and failed to keep his breathing even. A large hand wrapping around his did not help matters.

He flinched from the contact, glaring at the girl hiding behind his face. No matter how much he wanted to fix this, to help this girl get her life on track… there was no way he could handle her apology.

"I'm going to fix this," he said, his voice shockingly steady despite the tears still flooding his eyes. He wiped at the wetness, a pointless gesture with his inability to stop the tear flow, and refocused his dark look on Cassie. "I will fix it because no one deserves to live like that. But I need you to understand this: you did not make a friend of me. All I can think when I look at you is that there was something awful in this world that—shockingly—I had not experienced before you went _Freaky Friday_ on me. Now I have, and I hate you for it."

Cassie looked horrified.

"But you said—"

"_I know what I said!_" Tony interrupted, voice lifting shrilly. He struggled to regain control. If he could not stop the crying, then at least he should be able to remain somewhat calm. Taking a breath, he focused on keeping his tone steady. "So maybe you should think about it and decide where you want to go with this. And know the consequences."

"What do you mean?" Cassie pleaded. "Consequences?"

He needed her gone. Tony did not want her here. He wanted… well, he could not recall the last time he had ever _ached_ for a specific individual.

"Ask someone else," he said flatly, turning his gaze back to the window. "Pepper would be a good start. Now get out. Send Bruce in."

Thankfully, Cassie did not attempt to pursue the matter. She went quiet and still, probably watching him to see if he would change his mind about talking. He did not look at her. He just swallowed and held onto what remained of his pride until he heard her stand and walk away.

Tony closed his eyes when the door opened, and the quiet murmuring drifted toward him. This ranked up there on the list of top five worst experiences of his life. Actually, if he were to rank it, he would slot it right behind _betrayed and nearly killed by Obadiah_ and _impromptu open-heart surgery in a cave in Afghanistan_. Because waking up in an unfamiliar place in a stranger's body wasn't bad enough, but the stranger had the life from _Hell_.

"Tony?"

Bruce.

His breath caught, and the tears came again.

"_Fuck!_" he hissed, scrubbing furiously at his eyes, growing increasingly frustrated when the tears refused to abate. "I hate this shit!"

Bruce, thankfully, did not say anything. He lowered the side rail and climbed onto the bed beside him. It was rare when Tony did not immediately tense up and pull away from an embrace. It was even more rare for him to actually return a hug. He was doing this a lot lately, but he was also crying a lot more than usual, so he supposed he could make some exceptions for himself.

Bruce seemed okay with Tony clinging to him desperately. Bruce was awesome. Amazing. Tony could not think of anyone better for this job. Really, there was no one better to have his back. If anyone came for him, they would have to face the _Hulk_. Only an idiot would take that challenge. Or maybe Thor. But Thor was safe too. Mostly.

"You're still a little feverish," Bruce observed when the tears finally stopped. Tony opened his eyes and stared at the dark gray of Bruce's shirt. It was a good color, he decided, though there was a distracting print on the front. Plus, he could not recall Bruce ever wearing anything that pulled quite that tight over the chest. Not that it was a bad thing. It was just unusual.

"Is this my shirt?" he blurted.

The hand on his head stilled.

"Um… I forgot to do laundry this week," Bruce mumbled. "We were in your room the other night… I didn't think you'd mind."

Tony snorted. It felt good, that warm coil of amusement in his chest.

"You've been working out," he remarked, which was kind of an awkward thing to say, but Tony had never really cared much about those social niceties. "I'm pretty sure I don't fill this shirt out quite that nicely."

"You look fine in it," Bruce assured him. "It's okay if you want to sleep, you know. I won't go anywhere."

"Promise?" He did not mean to say it. It just spilled out, barely a breath behind it. He closed his eyes, willing Bruce not to have heard him, but that was wishful thinking.

"Yeah," Bruce said gently, hand soothing over Tony's temple. That was nearly enough to send him tumbling into sleep. "I promise."

As it turned out, those two words were enough to release the last of the tension. Tony sighed, and that was the last thing he recalled until he woke again, several hours later.

And Bruce had not been lying. He was still there.

* * *

Note: Now, I'm not a psychologist, but behavior and the reasoning behind it always fascinates me. The one thing I found interesting when I started writing this was this attempt to get in the heads of the people involved. The friends, the teenager who is self-centered by nature yet legitimately hurting, and then Stark. All of them are hard to pin down normally, being that they're all twisted enough not to react the way most people would.


	10. Chapter 8

Notes: I'll comment now on just how wonderful I think Pepper is. Seriously. She's amazing. And so is Bruce.

Warnings: Suggestions of slash without actual slash. (That's totally possible, I swear.) Probable OOCness.

* * *

Virginia "Pepper" Potts was a patient woman. A person had to be patient to deal with Tony Stark, as had frequently been pointed out to her. That did not mean, however, that she was always a kind person. Tony could attest to the many times she had put her foot down and told him to dig his head out of his ass.

She was not sure how to handle the person currently sitting in front of her. It was Tony's face and Tony's clothes (his sloppy workout clothes), his voice and his eyes. But there was no mistaking this person for the man who had hired her over a decade earlier. Pepper knew that man—intimately—and she could now tell at a glance that this was still the intruder.

Tony never got to the point where he looked like he would burst into tears for no apparent reason. (Natasha told her that the real Tony—the one trapped in this girl's body—had suffered a few crying fits, but Pepper had not seen it, and she had the feeling Tony would sooner leap armorless from a tall building than allow her to witness this.)

Pepper had to keep herself on a business train of thought if she was going to make it through this without leaping across the table to strangle the brat who had caused all this trouble.

She sat in the chair across from Cassie, placing a stack of files between them.

"I've collected some legal forms we'll need to start this ball rolling," she announced. If she focused on the papers, this was not so bad. She could think about the process and not Tony, sick in a hospital bed. "First, I need to know if you want to press charges. And honestly, if you don't, Tony has already expressed that he wishes for this to happen, so I'll take it to the state. You're a minor, and that means the state will do this whether you think this is a case or not."

She was met with silence, which did not please her in the slightest. Silence could mean any number of things. Pepper did not know the child well enough to guess.

Impatient to get started, Pepper looked at the intruder expectantly. (It was easier to think _intruder_ when she was looking right at Tony's face. Otherwise she would be aggravated at seeing him and trying to work through the discrepancies in his behavior.)

The intruder looked uncertain.

"What's on your mind?" Pepper inquired when the intruder was not forthcoming.

"I talked to her—to him—today," the intruder said, looking upset at the mere mention of this.

"Tony can be a bit abrasive," Pepper said dismissively. "I'm sure whatever he said—"

"He said there would be consequences," the intruder burst out unhappily.

Pepper frowned. Out of context, that could mean almost anything. Obviously it was something distressing to Cassie. The intruder was wringing her hands in a nervous gesture Tony never would have succumbed to.

"Explain," she ordered.

"He said he would do it," the intruder obliged, twitchy and unable to sit still. "He said he would be me and testify if I said I didn't want to do it."

Pepper's stomach dropped to somewhere below her chair. Surely this girl would not be _that _selfish.

"I see," she said slowly, carefully.

"He said there would be consequences," Cassie said, barely speaking above a whisper. "What did he mean? He said he hated me! I didn't mean for this to happen! I didn't!"

Pepper looked at the intruder wearing the face of her closest friend and realized exactly what this was. Tony had obviously started something with this child, and for whatever reason he had left her hanging. Normally that would be reason to get irritated with him, but Pepper suspected there was a great deal more to this situation than a simple lack of follow through. Besides, after everything that had happened over the past month and—even more—the last three days, Pepper had a difficult time finding fault in what Tony did.

"Cassie," she said, calmly folding her hands in front of her as she slipped into lecture mode. The intruder looked up, and Pepper forced herself to ignore the liquid quality to Tony's eyes. This was Cassie, not Tony. "Because of your actions, a man has had to live your life for a month."

"I didn't realize—"

"Cassie, listen to me," Pepper cut her off. Cassie's mouth snapped shut. "It doesn't matter. You acted selfishly, and someone else suffered for it. He is hurt and angry, and he is justified. What you don't seem to notice or care about is that, despite all of this, he is still trying to help you."

"But he said there would be a cost!"

"Of course there will be a cost," Pepper lifted her eyebrow at the intruder.

She often compared Tony to a child, but she would rather deal with a child than a teenager. Teenagers were caught in the middle—somewhere between irrational oversimplification and just plain irrational. They did not have the maturity to deal with the adult world, and it was shocking when it slapped them in the face.

"Legal matters take time," Pepper explained. "If this goes to court, which it very well might, then this could take months. Maybe years."

"Years? But if they have evidence…"

"This isn't television," Pepper said harshly. "Bad people don't simply go to prison. There's a process. And there are hundreds of people vying for the attention of the lawyers and the judges and the courtrooms. It could be six months before this even reaches the courts.

"If you choose to remain uncooperative," she continued. "If you choose to force Tony to remain in _your body_, then yes, there will be consequences. For instance, you are not Tony Stark. Tony is an unparalleled mathematical genius. There is a reason his company makes the kind of money it does.

"Tony is also a highly public figure. Already there have been questions. I've had to send out rumors of a retreat. The people of New York have not been happy that their golden boy hasn't shown his face in so long. Not to mention the board of directors."

"I didn't know he was famous," the intruder mumbled.

"He's Iron Man, Cassie," Pepper said, frowning at the girl's ignorance. "You can look that up later. I'll have Jarvis give you access. The point is, you'll be a virtual prisoner. You'll remain locked in the tower until the trial ends and we get the two of you back to normal. Before that, I'll have to work some serious legal magic to keep _Tony_ from being placed in the foster care system. Because that's what they'll want. But we need him. His company needs him. The Avengers need him. His _friends need him_. And if I have to apply to be a foster parent to get him into my custody, I will. After that, we'll have to figure out what to do with you. I imagine Tony won't want the reminder."

Cassie stared at her through Tony's wide eyes. It was painful seeing that fear on her friend's face. It angered her. Even when Tony was afraid, he never showed it. He grew angry, vengeful, dangerous. Sometimes he drank, and then he was frighteningly reckless. But he did not show this kind of fear. How dare this girl warp him like this!

"Will _I_ go to foster care?" Cassie whispered.

"Yes."

"He… he said he would adopt me if no one else would help."

"It would be better for you if you went into foster care," Pepper said bluntly. No matter what Tony had said, what he had offered, she was not going to let this happen. She would not put a kid on the streets, but Pepper had seen enough of her friend's pain. This she could not allow. "Use state aid, seek therapy, finish your schooling. Get some friends. If you stay here, you'll wind up alone and hated. It's not a much better fate, I think.

"I'll leave you alone to consider this," she said finally. "Would you like anything to eat or drink?"

A rough headshake was her answer. Pepper left the room.

* * *

All things considered, Tony was handling the situation very well. By comparison, Bruce knew he had nearly lost control of himself multiple times since their fellow Avenger had found his way home. He was doing better now, his mind having taken the known events and—not rationalized, of course, because there was no rationalizing what had happened to Tony—acclimated itself to them. He suspected he would eventually pay for this tight control over his emotions, but for now he knew he could sit safely here in the hospital with Tony and not worry about hurting anyone.

He did not even need a sedative.

Tony slept peacefully for several hours. That was an impressive feat for him under normal circumstances. Considering the reason they were in this medical facility, Bruce thought it was an accomplishment worth writing home about.

Tony regained consciousness a bit after lunchtime, although it was a stretch to declare him awake. His eyes were open, but they were blank and distant, lost somewhere far from the hospital room.

Though he would have preferred to be at home with the billionaire back to his usual snarky, adult, _male_ self, Bruce had to admit he actually enjoyed sitting here with Tony. It was relaxing, and some small, egotistical part of his brain was determined to maintain this position of protection. As long as he was here, Tony would be safe.

He would not lose this man again.

"How long until you guys let me out of here?" Tony asked, about an hour after he opened his eyes. Bruce had been expecting the question earlier.

"You have the flu," Bruce said. "That alone is reason enough to be cautious, no matter how mild the strain. With everything else, you'll be stuck here until tomorrow at least."

Tony sighed and closed his eyes, curling an arm around Bruce's waist and resting his head on Bruce's chest. Utterly relaxed, Bruce just ran his hand over the cropped dark hair.

"Was her hair this short before you got to it?" he asked, suspecting the answer but curious to know if he was right.

"It's awful, I get it," Tony mumbled. "I did it with a pair of kitchen shears in the bathroom one day. It's stupid. I thought…"

Thin fingers clutched hard at Bruce's shirt (Tony's shirt), and Bruce instantly shifted his arms to cradle the delicate body that both was and was not Tony.

"I thought if I stopped looking like a girl, he'd stop…" Tony finished, his voice thready with remembered pain. "It took so long to get out of there. No one believed me. No one _cared_."

"Why didn't you call?" Bruce dared to ask.

"I did. A couple times from a pay phone once I got out of Oregon," Tony gave a shrug, made awkward by his position. "I don't remember phone numbers except for the Stark Industries main line—that thing hasn't changed in decades—but I got some temp. She thought I was making shit up, and she told me to stop calling."

That had been pushing two weeks ago. Bruce closed his eyes, concentrating on the warmth of the body in his arms and the low stutter of Tony's breath. He thought he was beyond this, but then Tony said something that made the anger come rushing back. He was going to make sure that temp never sat at the main operator switchboard again.

"I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault," Tony pointed out. "Hey… Bruce?"

"Yeah."

"When I get… back to normal," Tony hesitated, fingers curling and relaxing nervously on Bruce's chest. He kept his gaze down, refusing to look up and meet Bruce's searching gaze. "Will you… I mean… if me being a guy doesn't bother you…"

Tony trailed off uneasily.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Oh.

Bruce exhaled slowly. This was a not entirely unexpected turn of events. He and Tony had gotten close in the months since the mess with Loki and the Chitauri. Clint delighted in tormenting them, calling it a _bromance_ of scientific proportions.

Looking back at all the times Bruce had rolled his eyes and Tony had laughed, he wondered if Tony had thought then to take it any further. Bruce certainly hadn't. Honestly, he was still a little hung up on Betty, and he knew Tony was still half in love with Pepper.

Clint had pointed this out already. He told Bruce that Tony was getting very attached. What he did not say (but what Bruce had focused on nonetheless) was that it probably was not a good thing at the moment. Not only was Tony dealing with an incredibly stressful situation, but he was being bombarded by unfamiliar hormones and all of the confusion that came with them. Bruce had the uncomfortable feeling that Tony was seeking out a safe port in a storm that was threatening to drown him.

A sudden whipcord tension rippling through the body beside his alerted Bruce to his extended hesitation. Tony was on the retreat, showing it physically before he blurted out an apology.

"You know what? Forget I asked. I shouldn't have assumed—"

"Tony…"

This was going to be ugly. Bruce knew better than to think Tony would handle rejection—or rather _perceived_ rejection—with any grace. Oh, he would bluff his way through with the best of them, but there was no way his head was in a good place right now. Bruce was not quite sure what this could do to him.

"—that you'd be interested in that," Tony spoke right over him, predictably.

He was tensing, trying to squirm away. Bruce tightened his grip without thinking, then winced when Tony's protests rose in volume and pitch.

"I mean, with Betty waving your flag, of course you're not—"

"_Tony_."

"—even _gay_, I mean I should be asking Clint or that guy in SHIELD tech who's totally closeted, but you know Don't Ask Don't Tell was rep—"

"Tony, just shut up."

"—repealed—_don't_ _tell me to shut up_, Bruce!"

Well, he had known this would be bad. That was a lot of anger—a rage that had probably been building for weeks—and now it was aimed at the one person who should probably be as far from it as humanly possible.

The anger did upset him, but not in the way most people feared it would. It was the sudden liquid aspect to those fevered green eyes that drove the stake through Bruce's heart. He was making Tony _cry_. Admittedly, that was not as frightening as it would have been had Tony been himself—Bruce had already noted that this body was assaulting Tony's brain with all sorts of chemicals the man was not used to handling—but the tears were awful all the same.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

Tony held his glare a moment longer. He seemed determined to hold the tears back, but Bruce knew better. This was an unusual situation set smack in the middle of an even worse one, and it was going to happen, no matter how much Tony wished it would not.

When it did, it was somewhat anticlimactic. Tony sucked in an angry breath, fixed his stare on Bruce's chest, and glared dully at the darkening stain beneath his cheek.

Bruce relaxed his hold and let his head fall back with a sigh.

"Look, Tony—"

"Don't you dare give me the _it's not you, it's me_ speech," Tony hissed.

"No, I'm pretty sure it's all you."

While that was the truth, Bruce thought perhaps he should not have said it quite so bluntly. Tony was obviously of the same opinion.

"Fuck you."

"It's not what you think, Tony," Bruce said harshly, instantly reacting to the sharpness of the crude retort.

By this point, he knew better than to think gentle words would be well received. If there was anything Bruce knew about Tony, it was that the man responded in a distressingly positive manner to negative attention. It was probably a throwback to a crappy childhood, but Bruce had never delved too much into that. Both of them had respected each other's pasts that much.

Sure enough, Tony tensed but did not slam his words back into his face.

"Do you honestly think I would be able to consider that proposal right now?" Bruce demanded. "Would you, if our positions were reversed? You just underwent a medical procedure only a small percentage of women ever have to endure, and you're a forty-year-old man. Where is your head right now, Tony? How can I trust that?"

"I am not a child," Tony said sullenly.

"No, but look at where I'm coming from, you ass," Bruce snapped. The insult shocked the tears away, had incredulous eyes turning back up to him. "I never really thought about the status of our friendship before now. Maybe I'll look at it in the future. But I sure as hell am not looking to make any sudden changes in our relationship while you're under the influence of a teenage girl's hormones."

At least the dumb gaping was better than the frantically furious tears. Bruce determinedly maintained his frown, refusing to look away while the gears spun away behind Tony's startled eyes.

Bruce doubted Tony had half the difficulty reading him as he had interpreting the deliberately blank stare on that tear-streaked face. He managed to keep his lips turned down, but Tony had turned into a veritable sphinx. Bruce had no idea what was going through his head, though he would not be surprised if he was told to pack up and go.

Finally, Tony blinked, his brows furrowing slightly.

"So that's not a definite no," he murmured.

Sometimes Bruce wondered why he put up with this. But then Tony was laughing—okay, giggling somewhat hysterically—and he could only close his eyes and shake his head and laugh along.

"I hate you so much," he protested.

"It'll pass," Tony assured him.

Like it was indigestion. He was not wrong, however.

"Yeah," Bruce murmured, and it was the most natural thing in the world to tug Tony back to his side. There was no resistance this time. Tony reclaimed that position, pillowing his head on Bruce's shoulder with a weary sigh.

"Bruce, if you want me to drop it…"

Bruce just wanted it never to have been brought up. Maybe, if Tony had waited until this was just a bad dream, well maybe then it would be something he would consider. Or if Tony was okay with being with another man. If Tony was happy being in a relationship where sex would probably never enter the equation. However, if Tony was just asking him because he knew he Bruce would never try to touch him with sex as an ultimate goal, then this was not a good place to be.

"When you're back to normal, I'll consider reopening the discussion," Bruce said finally. "That's not a yes or a no. That's just an invitation for conversation."

Tony sighed and inexplicably huddled closer. Bruce had feared his answer would create the opposite effect.

"Bruce?"

"Yeah?"

He tried not to let his unease transfer into the tension of his body.

"Thanks."

The way he relaxed proved he had been unsuccessful in his attempt at hiding his anxiety. Tony, fortunately, did not comment. Bruce squeezed his shoulder lightly in his own gratitude.

"Yeah."

* * *

Two days passed before Bruce could be persuaded to let Tony leave his hospital room. It was not a moment too soon. Even with the added help of McCoy and Storm, there was only so much one could do to keep a genius mind occupied. As the latest baby-sitter, Clint was completely relieved, both to know that Tony was mostly healthy again and that he no longer had to try to keep the billionaire from climbing out the nearest window. That part had not been an easy task.

Then finally, _finally_ McCoy declared him well enough to leave the constant observation of medical staff. Tony threw on the change of clothes Storm dropped off, gave his hasty thanks to the mutants for their help, and then proceeded to yank on Cliff's arm impatiently.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" Tony whined. It probably was not meant to sound so shrill, but it was a feminine voice—a _teenage_ feminine voice—and there was only so much a person could do with it.

"Slow down, Tony," Clint wanted to smirk. This kind of behavior was charming in an irritating kind of way, and normally he would be grinning. But he was the messenger, which left him in the unenviable position of telling Tony that they were not going straight home.

"Is Happy here?" Tony demanded as they stepped into the elevator. "I haven't seen Happy."

"He's with Pepper," Clint said, bad news and reassuring news at once. "Hit the top floor. We're taking a quinjet."

Tony's hand froze over the button for ground level. Clint could _see_ the tension rip through the slim body, narrow shoulders suddenly hunching, sharp green eyes glaring at him. This was Stark. That look was solely him. The girl could not manage that expression even in his body. He somehow managed it in hers. Not for the first time, Clint wondered how they ever thought Cassie was Stark.

"Seems a little excessive," Tony said, tone mild despite the suspicion on his face. "It's only a twenty minute drive."

"Cassie agreed to switch back," Clint said, bluntly striking Stark with the news rather than attempting to ease him into it. Tony never responded well when people tried to coddle him anyway. "We're going to Oregon."

Tony's hand fell, so Clint reached over and punched the button. On impulse, he ruffled a comforting hand through Tony's hair. (It was less choppy now. Storm had taken a scissors to it the previous day, creating a boyish style that looked less like someone had gone at it with a butcher's knife.)

The look Tony gave him made it clear the contact was unwelcome.

"Sorry," he said, sincere for once in an apology. "You okay with this?"

"I'm getting what I wanted," Tony said dully. "Why wouldn't I be?"

The elevator dinged, announcing their floor, and Clint led them to the roof access. The quinjet was parked a short distance away. Bruce and Steve stood beside it, waiting for them. Clint knew Natasha and Thor were already inside. It would have taken an act of God to make any one of them stay behind for this particular trip.

Tony hesitated by the wing of the quinjet.

"Why are we going to Oregon for this?"

"You're not going to like it," Clint muttered. Tony was not quiet about the things he disliked.

Clint was managing to get every incarnation of the Stark glare this morning.

"Okay, I deserved that," he admitted. "We're after some sort of mystical spell book."

"A magic book," Tony said flatly. "Of course it is."

"It's back at the Morgan home, and Cassie couldn't tell us where it was since we figured you moved it around without realizing what it was," Bruce said.

Clint had had his suspicions. If he had any doubts before, they were wiped out when, on Bruce's approach, Tony's entire body relaxed. They were not obvious about it. There was no greeting kiss (which, thank god, because that would have been creepy, considering Tony was currently a sixteen-year-old girl), nor was there any hand-holding or sappy looks. It was all in the body language that very few people would have even noticed. Tony was completely at ease in Bruce's presence.

Steve noticed instantly. His eyes went wide, darting past the pair to Clint, seeking confirmation for what he was seeing.

Clint rolled his eyes and mimed gagging. Tony did not notice. Bruce did. Clint was not quite sure what to make of the man's frown and minute head-shaking gesture, but he obliged the man and ceased with his admittedly immature behavior.

"I ripped that place apart," Tony said, confirming their suspicions, "I could have thrown it out a window for all I remember. Or at Mommy Morgan. I threw a lot of things at her."

"You threw things at Cassie's _mom_?" Clint was impressed.

"She hit me first," Tony said coldly. "Mothers should not be striking their children. She deserved whatever I dished out."

"You are my _hero_."

Tony winced. Clint was starting to wish he was mute. It seemed that nothing he said was going to get a good reaction.

Visibly bracing himself, Tony pushed past Steve (Steve was not moved by the weak-armed shove; Tony had to circle around him), heading toward the loading ramp.

"Let's get this field trip over with."

* * *

Note: I debated long and hard over whether or not to take this in a romantic direction. (Especially since I find the Bruce/Tony pairing completely adorable.) Unfortunately for their love affair, I kept running into this brick wall of the situation at hand. Contrary to what I've seen people do with most stories of this nature, sex with someone else does not erase past abuse. All I can see in a relationship like that is codependence and a lingering undercurrent of fear. Every place my head takes a relationship begun in violence (even if the violence was inflicted by someone who is no longer involved) is bad. Especially with a character like Tony Stark, who is prone to self-destruction anyway.

So, in the interest of not turning this story into a novel of one disaster following another, I was happy that Bruce had an iota of common sense. Tony still doesn't have any, but some of the people around him are helping me keep him from destroying himself.


	11. Chapter 9

Notes: I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed for staying with me thus far. I'm actually winding the story down now. Maybe two or three chapters after this. Endings are always the toughest part, and I feel I made a bit of a mistake posting this story before it was finished. Still, there were a few things that I feel were improved due to feedback. Those who reviewed, thank you so much for that.

Warnings: None.

* * *

They were back in motion. This, at least, was familiar. This was something Steve could do other than watch his friends languish under the stress this entire messy affair had wrought on them. Steve was a man of action, and his earlier inability to do more than wait to see how time would treat them had been painful at best.

He would have liked it if Clint had put the quinjet down in the Morgan family's front yard. That certainly would have made a statement.

Ironically, it was Tony who put a stop to that kind of thinking.

"Their house is the size of a postage stamp," the engineer said wryly. "They _have_ no yard, and we'll cause an accident if we land in the street. Do you really want that kind of negative attention? Let's keep this under the radar, Cap."

Tony was right, of course. Steve reigned in the savage desire to rush in and take down anyone who dared hurt his friend. He ruthlessly shoved aside the righteous kid who wanted nothing more than to swing wildly and to hell with the likelihood that it would only get him soundly beaten. He was smarter than that.

The quinjet could move faster, but Clint was taking it easy. Though Hank and Bruce had both declared him healthy enough to be released from the hospital, Tony was still a bit frail. Hank had not liked the idea of Tony in a plane, no matter how advanced. Steve suspected it had everything to do with why Clint was flying much slower than usual.

Being that they were traveling at such an easy pace, he took advantage of the extra time and planned out their course of action. Of course, doing this required a certain amount of patience and finesse. He needed Cassie's cooperation, after all.

It was very awkward in the plane. Clint and Natasha had it easy up in the cockpit. In the back, they had crammed in five passengers, which was at least three more than usual. Usually Tony and Thor flew under their own power unless they were traveling long distances. Though the distance was not so terrible—certainly not as far as Thor had traveled in the past—the man had joined them in the quinjet. Steve suspected he wanted to keep an eye on the proceedings. For obvious reasons, Tony was not using the Iron Man armor. And then there was Cassie.

They had strapped the intruder in Tony Stark's guise into place. Cassie was not restrained aside from the seatbelt, and there really was no need for it. Aside from having promised cooperation, there was no way Cassie could escape the Avengers. Tony might have managed it, but that girl in his body was not nearly clever enough to get away should she decide she no longer wished to cooperate.

In effort to keep the peace, Bruce and Tony sat about as far from Cassie as they could manage. Thor and Steve took turns acting as a wall between the three of them, but it was still a tense ride. Steve was afraid to make it worse, but he hated rushing blindly into things.

"So this… ceremony," he said when they were somewhere over the Midwest. "Does it require more than the book?"

Cassie looked up at him, the uncertainty on the haggard face. For once, it seemed she had not gotten any sleep, and it showed in the darkness around Stark's eyes.

"A couple herbs," she murmured. "Hair."

"Hair," Steve echoed flatly.

"Mine," Cassie explained hesitantly. "Her—his. Mr. Stark's."

A glance at Tony revealed that he was listening but pointedly ignoring Cassie either way. His hard stare was focused somewhere on the floor, body tense where it leaned against Bruce's arm.

"These herbs," Steve forced himself back to Cassie. "Do you have them, or will we have to go shopping?"

"They're not things you can get in the baking aisle," Cassie told him.

It was suddenly like speaking with Stark when he was in lecture mode. This was the one place where Cassie knew something none of the rest of them did. She sensed it and became instantly more confident. Steve had seen it happen in other people, and he was unsurprised to see it happen here.

"They have to be solid and dried. I have a friend who knows how to get some."

"You should have told us this before we left," Bruce said peevishly. "Shockingly, I also know where to procure rare ingredients."

The confidence crumbled, and the Stark doppelganger was gone, curled back into the anxious, frightened Cassie. Steve did not approve of knocking the girl down as Bruce had done, but he was somewhat grateful not to have to make the separations in his head. It was hard enough seeing the body and knowing it was not actually Tony in there. When Cassie started actually looking and speaking like Stark, the differentiation became more challenging.

"We'll deal with it now," Steve said firmly. He glanced at his watch. "We'll get the book first. Then we'll find your friend."

"He'll be in school," Tony said wryly. He was still glaring at the floor, but he must have noticed Cassie's startled look because he spared a second to glance in her direction. "Unless you had more than one friend."

Steve caught Clint's amused snort. He did not fault the men for slinging insults—Tony, in particular, tended to be the worst in this respect when he felt he was being threatened—but it was not productive and could potentially cause Cassie to shut them out.

"Tony," he said, gentle but stern.

"_What_?" Tony was definitely feeling better. His attitude was back full force, and he was angry. Steve was not even sure why. With any luck, their friend would be back to normal by the end of the day. Tony should be thrilled. "Don't look at me like that, Cap. You think everyone in this bird doesn't know what it's like to have only one decent person at his back?"

"Or hers?" Natasha called back. Tony flung his arm toward her, an inclusive motion acknowledging the input.

That was actually a surprise. Steve never would have guessed that Tony—or Thor, for that matter—had ever known what it was like to feel like no one else cared what happened to him. For all that he valued his team, he had to wonder if it was good or bad that he was not making much of an attempt to learn more of their history.

Of course, now was neither the time nor the place.

"For all that he helped her do this, Ben's actually a good guy," Tony scrubbed a self-conscious hand over his shortened hair. (Steve had to admit, he had been a bit shocked when Storm had shorn the hair down almost military short. It was almost totally brown now, with only a few patchy spots of dark where the black dye had not completely grown out.) Tony's discomfort was not likely caused by his short hair. Steve suspected it had more to do with whatever he felt he was admitting. "He thought I was nuts, but he still hung around."

"You told him?" Cassie asked softly.

Tony sneered, physically recoiling from the question—or, more likely, the fact that it had come from Cassie.

"Yeah. He humored me, but I don't think he really believed it."

"Did you tell him everything?"

"Afraid I told him about Uncle Danny?" Tony retorted.

Steve looked at him sharply, because there was no denying the hostility this time. Fortunately Bruce was there, muttering in Tony's ear until their angry friend hunched in on himself and turned away from the conversation. It was with true teenage disaffection that he crossed his arms, kicked out his feet, and resumed his blank perusal of the jet's floor. He could have said it was the body, but Steve knew Tony had always been good at putting on an apathetic mask.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Steve glanced up. Thor looked solemnly down at him.

"None of us look forward to encountering young Cassandra's family," Thor said, keeping his voice unusually low. "Until this is over, perhaps we should maintain focus on the task and not the reasoning behind it."

Thor was right. The man could come off as a fool sometimes, with his unending optimism and inability to operate the toaster. (Even Steve was getting the hang of his Stark phone, while Thor had broken four in the past six months.) Sometimes he forgot there was a keen military mind behind all of that enthusiasm. When Thor made friends, he made every effort to support and understand them, even if he did not get all of the cultural details.

With Thor's simple statement, Tony's antagonistic behavior made more sense. He was not just angry—he was probably anxious, or even frightened. These people had harassed and assaulted him for weeks. The bruises on his wrists were hidden behind long sleeves, but Steve had seen him in the clinic last night. They were fading, but there was little doubt that someone had grabbed and held him with brutal force. Geez, Tony had just gotten released from the hospital after undergoing some horribly unpleasant sounding procedure involving female parts and processes, and…

Steve was not even comfortable thinking about it. He could not imagine what it was like living through it. Bad enough for someone adapted to being female, but Tony was a forty-year-old man. He could not possibly have been mentally prepared for anything like this, and now they were taking him back to where it all began.

It was no wonder Tony was lashing out.

At least Bruce was there to keep him calm. Steve was not quite sure what was going on between those two, but he had to admit it was a good thing. Bruce looked calm, and Tony needed a steady hand. (Not that Steve would ever tell him that. He knew better than to open _that_ can of worms.) For all that he was the Hulk, Bruce was a soothing presence. Adding him to Tony Stark's entourage of important people could only be an improvement.

Steve was not sure about Colonel Rhodes, but he suspected Pepper would be quite happy with this development.

"Right," Steve said. It was abrupt after that long silence, but he did not particularly care. "By the time we get the book, school should be up. We'll pick up Cassie's friend and procure the herbs we need to make this work. Does this… ceremony have to be done anyplace special?"

Cassie was watching them warily now. It was strange seeing that kicked dog look on Stark's face. Tony never would have allowed such an expression to show. But that wasn't Tony, Steve knew, and the look got a little less pronounced when he offered an encouraging smile.

Cassie would never know how damn hard it was to force that smile.

* * *

La Grande was not as small as Tony would have them believe. While it was true that it was surrounded on all sides by farmland, it had a fairly decent population. Hell, it even had its own shopping mall. Not big. It was not New York, but it was not a two road town, population 35.

They landed in an empty field just outside of town a little after two. Clint and Natasha took Cassie with to the girl's home while the rest of them waited by the jet. They were aiming to keep as inconspicuous as they could for as long as possible. Ideally, they would be gone before anyone realized they had just played host to the Avengers.

Bruce could see that Steve and Thor were both chafing at being left behind. Steve tried not to let it show. He had been the one to make the final call. Even out of uniform, he and Thor were rather conspicuous individuals. It made sense for them to stay with Bruce and Tony in the jet. However, it was always difficult being the one who waited.

For his part, Bruce was happy to wait. His mind was already racing with thoughts of abusive family members and not-so-fond memories of his own unsavory childhood. If he laid eyes on anyone he thought might have laid a hand on Tony, he was certain this town would not survive. It might not be a one-horse town, but it was not prepared to handle the Hulk. As it was, he was already horribly tense.

Tony noticed.

"Want another Valium?"

Bruce blinked, momentarily distracted from his anger by the soft inquiry. He glanced at Tony, not overly surprised to note the distant gaze, focused somewhere past the winter-whitened fields.

"It's not Valium," he corrected. Valium was dangerously addictive and not healthy if taken too frequently. He hated using it. The only reason he accepted it the last time was because he was seeing green in the middle of a hospital where Tony was sleeping off sedation less than fifty yards from his position. It had been the first thing the nurses could easily provide, and he was not being choosey. "I don't want to be asleep."

"I've got four other bodyguards, big guy." Trust Tony to reach right into the heart of the matter. "The other heavy hitter is pacing in the snow outside with Captain America. The president isn't as safe as I am."

"Don't be so hard on us," Bruce said, glad for the shift of focus. "You'd be the same if it was one of us."

Tony was understandably irritable about his situation. He was obviously aiming for humor with that last comment, but Bruce could hear the bitter undertone. Tony was not a fan of needing protection. Or, and this was more likely, he was not happy _knowing_ he needed the protection.

"Good thing it _wasn't_ one of you," Tony mused. "Can you imagine what that girl could have done in Thor's body? Jesus, in _yours_?"

He was avoiding the other side of the equation. Bruce did not push it.

"We're trying to feel useful here, Tony," he said, deliberately keeping it light. "With everything that's going on, the only people who seem capable of doing anything productive are you, Cassie, and Pepper."

Tony snorted. He grabbed Bruce's wrist, turning it and then pushing it back to eye the watch. (Cassie, as they had discovered, was farsighted. Tony had long since lost track of any glasses or contacts and had to hold things at a distance to read.)

"What's wrong?" As far as Bruce was aware, they were not on a schedule.

"Ben's parents are friends with Cassie's," Tony muttered. "I was hoping to get to him before they come home from work."

He was trying to keep the rage under control. God, he was doing his best. But the thought of anyone who had been involved in this mess made him want to rush headlong into a fight.

"Did they—"

"No," Tony must have known exactly where his mind was going. "They didn't even know. I didn't go around shouting it to the town, and from what I gathered, neither did Cassie."

"And the police?"

"Deputy's a Morgan relative," Tony sighed. "I kept getting cut off at the pass. Bruce, we really need to get to Ben. If his parents see me, they might cause a stir. The police could get involved."

Bruce glanced at his watch. It was almost three. Clint and Natasha were still gone with Cassie, but they had communicators. Steve would keep them in the loop.

"We're trying to keep this quiet," he reminded Tony. "Thor and Steve won't stay behind, and even if they change clothes, Thor is pretty… notable."

"Have you seen how big teenagers are getting lately?"

Tony was up and digging into the storage tucked beneath the benches.

"Actually, I bet you'll really like Ben," Tony said as he dragged out jackets and jeans and other clothing articles Bruce had never known were there. "I told him about you. He thought I was making shit up, of course. Cassie never knew or cared about superheroes before. But I told him about you and Cap—he's a _big_ Captain America fan boy—and I told him about Barton and… and Thor. And Phil. I told him about Phil. He deserves to be known, I think…"

This was a breakdown in the works. Bruce watched the petite form that encased Tony work, the movements jerking and rushed. Tony was trying to keep it together—that much was obvious—and rightfully so. This was not the time for hysterics. They had a lot to do and not much time in which to do it, if Tony was right about the friend.

"Get a jacket and a hat on," Bruce suggested. "I'll get Steve and Thor to come in and change. And then you can tell me why you thought a spare set of clothes would be a good use of emergency storage space."

Tony laughed, high, youthful, and brittle.

"You're just jealous that I thought of it."

Bruce shook his head and hit the release. Cold air rushed in, and he trotted down the ramp to retrieve their other team members.

* * *

"Why a change of clothes?"

Steve did not object to changing out of the uniform (though he still carried his shield, tucked away in an oversized case currently slung over his shoulder). He knew it was for the best. The stars and stripes garnered looks even in New York, where he was practically a commonplace occurrence by now. Thor's cape did make him look a bit like he had stepped straight out of the Crusades. More than anything, he was curious as to how Tony had squirreled away the clothing when he had only found out that morning, when the jet picked them up, that they were even headed for Oregon.

"And when did you do this?"

"Genius, remember? I knew we'd have to come back at some point," Tony reminded him. "Just thank my minion."

"Minion?" Thor echoed. He sounded distinctly amused.

"Seriously?"

They all received a Look when they failed to understand the reference. At least, Steve thought it was a reference. With Tony, everything was a reference to something.

Tony sighed loudly.

"Natasha. Who else in the tower would get all the sizing right? Do you have any idea what shopping for a man Thor's size is like? Big and Tall barely even covers it."

Steve was still a bit baffled as to when Tony would have made this suggestion, but he decided it was not all that important. He shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather bomber jacket and stomped his feet to shake some of the snow from the treads of his boots. It really was impressive. Natasha had even gotten the shoe sizes right.

The hike to 'Ben's' house was not terribly long. He lived about two miles into town. The problem came in the form of slippery walkways and three men who were still very worried about their fourth companion. Tony had just been released from the hospital that day—just over four hours ago—after a bout of the flu and… other things, and now they were hiking through the snow.

"Would you like some assistance, my friend?" Thor offered.

Tony was breathing harder than the rest of them, but the look Thor received made it quite clear that he had taken offense at the offer.

Steve really hoped this worked. On a good day Steve and Tony never quite agreed on everything. Add to that Steve's instinctive urge to protect someone he _knew_ was vulnerable, and the mixture was explosive at best. It was amazing Tony had only blown up at him once since getting back.

Part of it was Bruce. With the way the scientist hovered, Steve never got close enough to step on Tony's toes. (Or to make the engineer irritated with his chauvinistically directed sense of chivalry.) Even in the plane Tony had sat close to the cockpit, Bruce between him and the rest of the jet's occupants. It had not kept Tony from sniping at Cassie, but the gesture was obvious enough.

Steve wondered what Bruce did that made Tony less annoyed by behaviors that were in the same spirit as Thor's recent offer.

"There."

Tony's sudden announcement and subsequent pointing down the street brought Steve to the here and now. He shoved aside the desire to go and stand over that small, frail girl, sternly reminding himself that, no matter what he looked like right now, that was still Tony Stark. He was the only one who knew where they were going. He was probably the only one who could effectively communicate with the boy they were seeking.

The house was a traditional two-story family house with a front porch and attached garage. It was blue, had white shutters and a bold red front door. There was even a tree in front of the house with an old tire strung up to one of its lower, heavy branches. A beat up old Chevy sat in the driveway.

"Oh good. He's home."

"The car is Ben's?" Bruce asked.

Steve wondered (and winced, just a little) at the rust lining the bottom of the vehicle. It was a sharp contrast to the otherwise perfectly kept home. Even the sidewalk was shoveled and ice free.

"His brother's."

Tony knocked on the door without offering further explanation.

"Is it creepy that I'm hoping he's the only one home?" the engineer wondered aloud. Steve could not help but smile at the comment.

"_Where are you?"_ Natasha's voice was suddenly in his ear. All of them had two-way radios in their ears, but Steve was the only one to answer.

"We're at the friend's house," he explained. "Did you get it?"

"_It took a while. The room was trashed,"_ Clint explained. "_I, for one, am disappointed that no one was home__. I was looking forward to some mindless violence. __But we did steal a car. How far, twerp?"_

Steve was going to assume that last question was not aimed at him. The sound of Stark's voice in the background had him gritting his teeth.

It was almost over.

"Ditch the car before you get here," the real Tony said dispassionately. Despite responding to the others, his eyes were pinned on the door, his mouth twitching slightly when they heard the sound of footsteps pounding down a staircase. "This is a small town. Let's not have the police getting involved."

"_We'll be there in ten minutes,"_ Natasha declared, just as the door was yanked open.

The boy who opened the door was tall and willowy, his skinny frame emphasized by black jeans that seemed indecently tight and a dark fitted tee shirt with a woman's wildly colored visage on the front. If that were not enough, the boy's hair was unnaturally black (much as the hair on Tony's borrowed body had been before most of it was chopped off), and he appeared to be wearing eyeliner.

Huh.

Confused blue eyes considered them for a moment before settling on the small form heading their mismatched group. At this point, the boy's eyes widened almost comically.

It was a near thing, but Steve managed to keep himself from reacting violently when the boy gave a startlingly high-pitched sound, grabbed Tony, and yanked the smaller body against him in a rough embrace.

"Oh my god, Cass!" the boy blurted. "I never thought I'd see you again! Where have you _been?_"

Tony tolerated the embrace for a few seconds before pushing at the teen's arms, prompting his release. The boy backed off, still holding Tony's shoulders, as if afraid that letting go would cause him to disappear.

Steve could sympathize. It was the only reason he did not completely object. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bruce's jaw working, holding back similar protests.

"Ah… you know all the crazy shit I was spouting the last time we talked?" Tony asked lightly. The boy frowned, eyes flicking slightly to take in the men around Tony but otherwise focusing on the person he perceived as his friend. "This is going to sound even crazier."

"Whatever," the boy—Ben, most likely—snorted. "I don't even care. Come in. Your friends too, if they're safe."

Steve exchanged a bemused look with Thor. This kid was a little hyper.

"Safe might not be the right word," Tony said wryly. "They won't do anything to you."

"_Hah!_" Ben led them into the house. "Shoes off. My mom'll pitch a fit if you track snow in here."

For a few awkward seconds, they hovered in the front hallway, removing their shoes and winter coats. Another odd moment struck when Tony took off his hat, and Ben's eyes bulged.

"_What_ did you do to your hair?"

Tony ran a hand over his head, ruffing up hair that was almost military short.

"Not that important right now, Ben," he said. "I need your help. Remember what I told you? About who I am?"

"You were freaking out, Cass," Ben glanced at the men, then trailed after Tony when the engineer meandered further into the house. "I thought…"

"My mental state notwithstanding, everything I said was true," Tony declared bluntly. "Meet Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, and Thor."

Ben jolted in place, doing a very good impression of someone who had just been struck upside the head. His eyes shot over to the three men who had, thus far, held their tongues. Steve forced a smile and assumed Thor and Bruce did the same. Ben's eyes went from Bruce to Steve to Thor, and then snapped back to Steve as his presence registered.

"Holy fuck. You're Captain America," the boy blurted.

He grabbed Tony's arm and jabbed his finger through the air with his free hand. Steve noted Bruce's tension, but none of them made a comment. Frequent touching seemed to be standard behavior for Ben, and Tony did not seem particularly bothered by it. In the end, that was all that really mattered.

Also, Ben appeared to be caught in a state of shock. Honestly? Steve was surprised the kid recognized him without the uniform. Most people didn't think that Captain America would walk around in a flannel shirt and jeans. Heck, he was willing to bet most people were unaware that he even _could_.

"That's Captain America. You brought Captain America to my _house!_"

"Yeah," Tony agreed lightly. "And Thor. And Dr. Banner. He's a physicist. And the Hulk."

Ben glanced at the other two, but his eyes kept sweeping back to Steve. His mouth formed the words _Captain America_ again, though he refrained from actually saying it. Steve was starting to get a little uncomfortable with the attention. This was along the kind of awkwardness he had felt upon his first encounter with Coulson.

"So back to the night I spilled my guts to you," Tony prompted.

Kohl lined eyes darted back to Tony, widening in impossible shock.

"Cass…" he said warily.

"Tony," came the unlikely correction. The lips on that teenage girl's face quirked in Tony's typical sardonic manner. "Your friend _Cassandra_ decided it would be a good idea to play with magic, which, for the record, sucks."

"I don't…" Ben staggered and leaned back against the counter. He shook his head roughly. "Cass, that's not even possible. Is it?"

"A month and a half ago, I would have said it wasn't," Tony said stiffly. "But then I woke up like this, and there's a teenage girl running around trying to be me. We've since come to an agreement. That's where you come in."

Ben's eyes strayed back to Steve. The kid was starting to blush, and Steve had to stifle a sigh. The last thing they needed right now was a star struck teenager.

"You're really friends with Captain America?" he asked. Obviously the kid was not getting it.

Steve did sigh then.

"Ben," he said sternly. (Ben's breath whooshed out, sounding vaguely like _ohmygod!_) "We need you to focus."

Unfortunately, Clint, Natasha, and Cassie chose that time to arrive. Chaos took hold the instant Clint shouted into the house.

"_Honey, I'm home!_"

Tony calmly tolerated Ben latching onto his hand as the boy's house was invaded by superheroes.

* * *

It took some time to get things settled. In the end, Steve was the key to gaining Ben's complete cooperation. The man had taken the boy aside and, with a considerable amount of quiet conversation and vague gesturing in their direction, explained the situation such that the teenager understood. Or, at the very least, Ben was so dumbstruck by Captain America talking to him that he agreed whether or not he actually believed any of it. He probably believed all of it because the explanation came from Steve's mouth.

Natasha was impressed.

"Using sex appeal to get what you want," she murmured to Steve as Cassie and Ben set up the necessary measures in the boy's bedroom. "You're learning, Cap."

Steve flushed and deliberately kept his gaze directed forward.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Coulson was a fan boy," Natasha reminded him. "This kid is infatuated. He's a step away from offering himself up to you."

"That is beyond inappropriate," Steve muttered. He raised his voice to address the others (and to keep Natasha from teasing him further). "How is this going to work?"

Natasha was not soon going to get over how red the back of Steve's neck was. Still, she was a professional, and she focused her attention on the pair that was moving in awkward tandem. Despite Steve's best efforts, Ben was not quite comfortable with the idea that the man currently helping him was, in fact, Cassie Morgan, his childhood friend. More than once he had attempted to get Tony's assistance only to have someone who appeared to be a middle-aged man handing him what he needed.

"Uh…" Ben flushed again at being addressed by Captain America. Natasha wished Tony were in a better mood. This sort of glee needed to be shared. "Almost done, I think. Cass?"

He looked to Tony, who just lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

"Er…" Ben swung his gaze around to the other one. "Um…"

Cassie was also uncomfortable. Natasha could see it in the consistently averted gaze and the hunched shoulders. She was, however, stepping up to the challenge as promised. This much was clear when she put the final candle in place and turned hopeful eyes to Tony.

"That should do it."

"Good."

Tony slid off the desk, from where he had been watching the pair work. Bruce hovered at his back, a wary and defensive (and admittedly somewhat nerdy) warrior.

"Last time there was fainting," Clint pointed out. He had taken up a perch on the desk beside Tony. This room was not nearly large enough for all of them, and it was obvious in the way Thor had to hover just inside the bedroom door with Steve and Natasha. None of them wanted to go near that tangled mess of sheets on Ben's bed. "Will there be fainting again? Because I can pull the car around front. No offense, Stark, but I don't like the idea of lugging your unconscious ass out in the cold."

"Car?" Steve muttered uneasily.

"Leave the quinjet where you landed it," Tony rebuked. "Cassie?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It's not like I do this all the time!"

Cassie looked terrified. She was right to be. This was the moment of truth, and there were five very capable fighters surrounding her should things go south.

"Relax, kid. Let's do this thing."

Despite his cavalier words, Tony was not confident. He hid it better than Cassie had, but Natasha could see the way his eyes flicked over the makeshift altar. He would probably call it something different. Altar was what Ben had called it, and it seemed to be an apt description, despite its… less than impressive layout. A blue chenille blanket had been tossed over an ottoman, and the bowl was actually a wok. There were four pillar candles that smelled strongly of patchouli, and the 'herbs' they needed were stored in plastic sandwich bags.

It was a poor man's altar. Or one slapped together by a couple of clueless teenagers.

Tony sat opposite of Cassie, his face a mask of annoyance.

"This isn't exactly Martha Stewart, is it?" he muttered. "What do we do now?"

"I've never done this before," Cassie said, a bit shrill as the implications of possible failure suddenly struck. Tony did not look impressed.

"The other crap came out of this book, right?" he jabbed at the open book on the altar. His hand was shaking, but no one was about to call him on it. Cassie least of all, who merely nodded, eyes wide with apprehension. Tony reflected the nod grimly. "Then this will work."

Natasha doubted he was half as confident as he sounded. Most of them weren't. Thor was the only one who looked even remotely certain of what was to come. Then again, Thor was the only one present whose first instinct, when faced with the notion of magic, was _not_ to scoff or proclaim it smoke and mirrors.

Slowly, obviously terrified of making a mistake or worse, Cassie began to read from the book. The incantation was brief and to the point. Natasha was familiar with Latin, and it seemed as though the spell was a simple request to undo what had been done. They all watched, intrigued as Cassie lit the candles with a simple, butane cigarette lighter. She grabbed the mixture of hair and herbs and sprinkled them into the bowl, then finished the incantation and closed her eyes, looking like she was sending up a silent, desperate prayer. Across the altar, Tony did the same, though he looked to be doing it more out of dubious obligation.

From the corner of her eye, Natasha saw Clint cross his fingers. She did not do anything so outwardly obvious, but she understood the sentiments.

She hoped this worked.

Seconds passed, and nothing happened. Natasha had not known what to expect—wind, flashing lights. Maybe a few convulsions. This still grandstand was not what she had pictured.

Steve sucked in a quiet breath, only audible because it was only inches above Natasha's ear.

Bruce watched with shuttered eyes, expression more impenetrable than Fort Knox.

Someone let out a brief, shaky sigh—it was Stark. At least, it came from Stark's body. Hazel eyes opened, staring steadily across the altar into green eyes set in a disoriented expression.

Clint, unsurprisingly, was the first to speak.

"Stark?"

The man's head turned, fixing his cool gaze on the archer. Natasha could feel the tension level drop to almost nothing.

It had worked.

The process had been very visually unimpressive, but it had brought about the desired results. Plus, there was the added bonus that no one had lost consciousness this time around.

Then Stark was scrambling to his feet, backpedalling and off balance as he lurched up to his full height for the first time in over a month. Eyes already flooding, Cassie cringed back, watching the man wheel around and stagger out of the room. Thor was in his way, but Tony merely shoved him aside (to which Thor clearly allowed him passage at that gesture) and disappeared down the hallway.

"Tony—!" Natasha stopped Steve from chasing after the man with a hand on his arm.

"Not a good time, Cap," she said softly. Chasing after a man in that state would be challenging at best. Sending Rogers after _Stark_ in that state was like sending a flame thrower toward a box of TNT.

"Banner," Clint muttered.

"I got him," Bruce said, and then he, too, was gone.

Natasha looked over at Cassie. The girl had not moved from where Tony sat only moments ago. Her face was already streaked with tears, and Ben was hovering over her, looking for the world like he felt completely useless.

Beside Natasha, Steve grimaced and shifted uncomfortably. Clint looked out the window, and Thor frowned but made no move forward. No one wanted to deal with this. As per usual, it would be left to the most competent one in the group. That is to say, Natasha would take care of it herself. That decided, she stifled an impatient sigh and walked over to crouch beside the distraught teenager.

* * *

Bruce found Tony on the main level of the house. He was in the front hallway, squatting low, digging through the piles of jackets. Bruce was not sure what the man was looking for, but from the frustration on his face, he was not finding it.

"Tony—"

Tony startled visibly but quickly resumed his search. He did spare half a second to flash Bruce a tight smile. There was no point in asking for any explanations when faced with that closed off expression. So Bruce asked a different question altogether.

"Can I help?"

A low huff was the initial response before Tony finally rocked back on his heels, his hands digging impatiently into his hair. His feet had to be getting cold and uncomfortable in the puddles of the melted snow and slush from discarded shoes. Bruce suspected that was the reason Tony was crouching rather than kneeling or sitting.

"I'm out of shape," was the first thing Tony said to him. Bruce could not help but smirk at the complaint. "What the hell were you guys thinking, letting her be so sedentary? I feel like I ran a marathon, and all I did was go down a flight of stairs."

"You can join me and Natasha in our yoga sessions," Bruce told him. "And I'm sure Steve will be happy to help you build up your strength again."

Tony shot him a look so full of disdain that Bruce could not keep from laughing. He knew the other man did not appreciate it, but it was difficult to contain himself when all he had wanted for the past five weeks was for this man to glare at him just like that.

"What are you looking for?" Bruce asked rather than apologize for doing something for which he was not remotely sorry. It earned him an exasperated sigh.

"The cuffs," Tony explained. It only took Bruce a second to realize he was speaking of the Mark VII beacons. "Natasha said she brought them, but I wouldn't put them on _the girl_, and I couldn't risk having them on me when she was—I had to wait, but now I need them. I can't—Bruce, I can't—"

He understood. It made perfect sense, really. Of course Tony Stark felt safest when he was in his armor. It was bulletproof, armed to the teeth, and certainly capable of withstanding anything anyone in this little town could throw at him. Considering what Tony had gone through here, it only made sense that he needed the peace of mind.

"I'm sure they're here."

Bruce shoved the jackets aside until he reached the sleek black jacket Natasha had been wearing earlier. It took only seconds for him to root out the cuffs. Tony grabbed for them, but Bruce simply caught the reaching hand and slid the bracelet into place. There was no complaint when he did the same for Tony's other arm.

They were close to the same size. Tony was, perhaps, a bit taller, had a bit less bulk to him, but it was close. There certainly was not the size discrepancy that had been present during his recent stay in SHIELD medical. Bruce would not be able to completely surround the man as he had done before, but he liked to think he provided some measure of comfort when he yanked Tony to his feet and into a rough embrace. Tony gave no indication that he was at all displeased with the position. He pressed his face into Bruce's shoulder, dug hard fingers into his back, and shuddered impressively.

To say that Bruce was happy to have Tony back to normal was more than a mild understatement. Even so, he could not imagine the disorientation Tony must be feeling. After weeks of being trapped in a sickly, female teenage body, he was abruptly thrust back into his own body, which was not even as he had left it. Bruce expected the man was glad, but it had to be overwhelming.

It was no wonder Tony had fled. He was not one to have his breakdowns in front of people, no matter how familiar. Bruce was just grateful Tony was willing to accept any comfort he had to offer.

* * *

There was something ugly about the situation that Clint did not like. It was not so much the horrors that Tony had suffered, of which he was not denying they happened, or the fact that both of their resident super geniuses had left the rest of them to deal with two teenage drama queens. Clint was not even focusing on that lost expression that had crossed Stark's face when he had reeled out of the room like a drunken sailor.

What really bothered Clint was, in fact, the scene before them. The girl (who Clint was having a hard time disassociating with Tony now) was sobbing hysterically. Ben was hovering awkwardly, looking like a powered down gay satellite. Natasha was a little more useful, but Cassie seemed to want to have nothing to do with the other woman. The girl had huddled in on herself, clearly convinced that the world had forsaken her.

Clint hated that he actually felt sorry for the brat. Her actions had been selfish and had ended horribly for one of their own, and yet he was empathizing with her. Shitty childhoods were practically par for the course when it came to being an Avenger (well, Thor and Steve seemed to have grown up semi-happily, but they were clearly exceptions), so Clint did get it.

He really wished he could just go back to hating the bitch.

Fortunately for his sense of inner peace, Tony and Bruce did not remain absent for long. Just when Clint was thinking to go after the pair and screw the consequences, Bruce reappeared at the doorway. Since where one was, the other was sure to follow, Clint was not surprised to see Tony right behind him.

The strangest thing about this mess (in Clint's not-so-humble opinion) was how Tony was handling everything. If it had been him, Clint would have been long gone. Probably. Maybe. All right, he was not sure, since it was _not_ him, and he really had no basis for comparison in this particular instance. The point was, from what he knew of Stark, the man had little time for anyone who wallowed in self-pity. Clint suspected this to be a throwback to Tony's own days of self-indulgence.

Instead of throwing Cassie to the wolves, Tony had been remarkably gentle about everything. Even now, when he could run and never look back, he strode across the small, messy bedroom (seriously, _Clint's_ room was not this bad) and stood over Cassie, looking down at her with his typical, inscrutable air.

Cassie did not magically stop crying. She seemed to be barely aware that Tony was in front of her. Natasha did, however, stop attempting to calm the girl. Nodding at Stark, Natasha quietly retreated, leaving Cassie crouched alone. (Ben was there, but the kid was worse than _Steve_ when it came to dealing with women's tears, so Clint did not count his presence.)

"Time to go, kid," Tony said.

The girl's shoulders heaved, and the waterworks renewed themselves. Clint had not realized a person could produce that many tears.

Tony was patient, but only to a point. He glanced over at Bruce, who apparently had nothing to offer other than a shrug, before turning back to the girl. Eyes lifting heavenward, Tony sighed out any impatience that remained and shoved his hand out into Cassie's line of vision.

"Cassie," Tony said sternly. "It's time to go."

"I—I…" Asking a girl who was crying that hard to speak clearly was too much. She made a valiant effort and was at least partially coherent. "I _can't!_ _Please!_"

Clint winced. The girl actually thought they were going to dump her back at her own home.

"Stop being an idiot, kid!" Tony barked. _There_ was the ruthless businessman Clint knew had been hiding away these past few days. He hid a smirk and watched as Tony took control in the only way he ever seemed capable of doing. "We had a deal. Your help for my protection. Now come on, before Ben's parents get home and make this shit way more complicated than it needs to be."

Cassie looked up, shocked out of her hysteria. The tears had not quite stopped, but at least she seemed lucid. Tony looked at her expectantly.

She reached up and grasped his hand. Tony raised an eyebrow, then hauled the girl to her feet.

Clint had seen people form attachments in the past. He had seen fanatical love, bitter hatred, and Stockholm Syndrome at its worst. This was an interesting one, though, because he never would have expected this kind of blatant devotion to a man who was generally an ass to everyone he met.

The girl had grown up in an abusive home, so Clint supposed he should not be so surprised. Tony snapped and snarled at Cassie, but he also was doing everything he could to help her. If she was lucky, Cassie was responding to the kindness and not the prickly edges.

"Where are you going?" Ben protested a bit when they filed out of the room, Cassie tucked close to Tony's side.

"Manhattan."

"_New York?_"

The kid was going to be a problem. Clint caught his arm, holding him back when he attempted to push into their midst as they redressed for the outside.

"Someone's been paying attention in geography," Clint muttered.

"You can't do that! This is kidnapping!"

"We mean your friend no harm," Thor said. His offering was met with an offended glare. Ben clearly did not believe the god of thunder.

"Technically, she's a runaway," Tony looked at the boy as he shrugged into the puffy down jacket they had put on Cassie earlier. Where it had seemed right when Cassie was in that body, on Stark it seemed cheap. He should have been wearing some designer wool coat. To make it even more ridiculous, he yanked a knit cap over his too-long, moppish hair. "Check your Facebook. We'll get you two in contact with each other as soon as we can. Anyway, you helped me run away when you thought I was her, so what's your problem?"

His problem was that now he could actually see a group of grown men and women walking off with his friend. Clint chose not to voice this. Stark was edgy as it was.

Ben seemed to realize the same thing. He looked at Cassie, beseeching her to say something. She looked at him, and, incredibly, managed a tremulous smile.

"Thanks, Ben," she whispered.

Ben was on the girl in an instant. They stepped back and let the two kids have their cuddle moment. It was very teen romance, except there was no way Ben was not gay. The red that appeared on Steve's ears whenever Ben addressed him was proof enough of that.

"Text me," Ben urged.

The pair would have lingered, but Tony was already pulling the door open. Like a dog called to heel, Cassie jumped away from Ben and, flashing her friend a weak smile, hurried after the billionaire.

"Don't you dare leave your hair that short!" Ben called out after them.

Cassie glanced over her shoulder at him, even as she slid her hand into the one hanging lax at Tony's side. Clint was shocked that Tony did not instantly pull away. The man had adopted a stoic bearing, though. Experience told Clint it would take nothing short of the death of someone Tony loved to break that mask right then. For the moment, he let Cassie hang off his arm as he led them back toward the fields where they had parked the quinjet.

Clint could not speak for anyone else, but he was looking forward to getting home.

* * *

Notes: This entire story, I feel I have done Thor a tremendous disservice. Next chapter, though, he has a section all of his own. Keep your fingers crossed that I don't royally muck it up.


	12. chapter 10

**Notes**: So, this took longer than I expected. Sorry about that. I'll try to do better on the next one.

**Warnings**: A bit of mind-fuckery on Tony's part.

* * *

Naturally, they could not tell the entire story. Trying to explain magic to the legal system would have been an effort in futility in itself. Pepper stepped up, after graciously dismissing the agent Fury had sent over to coach them on handling the press, and reminded them of the shit storm that would occur should actual events come to light.

"Not only will it harm Mr. Stark's public image, but the Avengers, by extension, will be cast in poor light for associating with it," she told them frankly. "We're going to stick to Cassie's story up to the time Tony first passed through La Grande."

They scripted it out, the story heavily edited for the police, lawyers and social services. Cassie had seen Tony 'Iron Man' Stark when he had been temporarily detained in La Grande during a snowstorm. She realized he had the resources to help her and ran away, following him to New York several weeks later. The Avengers took her in, and the rest was swept under the rug.

"It's kind of shitty that we can't just handle this," Clint remarked.

About a week had passed since things had returned to normal. At least, things were as normal as they could get under the circumstances. Cassie was gone, currently in the care of social services until they could get her into foster care. Despite her absence, the tension level in Avengers Tower was higher than usual.

"We are not in the business of vigilantism," Steve reminded the man. "And SHIELD is still a government agency. They are not above the law."

"That's only because Stark took this public," Clint grumbled.

Steve had to give him that one. They all knew it was true. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, Steve was glad Tony had taken the initiative. That choice had taken any potentially violent decisions out of their hands. Specifically, he had taken the choice from Steve. He was still struggling with the memory of Tony—much different in appearance perhaps, but still Stark—howling like an animal trying to escape a deadly trap. It made him want to do unsavory things to the people who had caused that. By taking Cassie directly to the police, Tony had ensured public knowledge (because with Stark involved, it would not remain quiet for long), which resulted in a safer world for the Morgan family.

"Where is Stark anyway?" Clint glanced over his shoulder, as though Tony would suddenly appear behind the sofa. "He's been MIA since dumping the kid off at social services."

"Bruce said he's been in meetings almost nonstop."

Steve was not sure if he should feel sorry for Tony or grateful that the man was able to leap right back into the saddle. Pepper was good at her job, but Tony was the company's namesake and the chief reason Stark Industries still produced relevant technology. The company could survive without him. _With_ him, Stark Industries thrived.

"However. He's supposed to be meeting me for a training session in a bit."

It was pretty much the only time anyone other than Bruce or Pepper saw Tony. Between business meetings and negotiations with social services, Tony had little free time for anything else. Steve understood there was a lot he needed to catch up on, but he knew lost time was not the only reason Tony was isolating himself.

This was his thought when he declined Clint's offer to join them. While he and Tony were not the best of friends, it seemed a betrayal of a sort to do anything the man did not expect.

Steve knew he had made the right decision when he arrived in the gym. He could hear Tony already inside, the dull sounds of impact informing him that the other man had gone straight for Steve's usual method of relieving stress. This was a bit worrisome, considering Steve had never seen Tony express anything other than academic interest in punching bags.

Tony's back was to the door, but Steve was not mistaken. The sandbag rocked with the force of each blow Tony delivered—not nearly at the caliber of Steve's punches, but impressive nonetheless. He had not even changed clothes but to discard his shoes, socks, and tie. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, but those were black dress slacks, and Steve recognized that red button down as one of Tony's favored 'power-suit' shirts. The back was already darkening with sweat.

It was obvious to Steve that Tony had very little practice with this form of exercise. His form was terrible; he was a hair's breadth away from breaking or tearing something, and it would not be the punching bag that sustained the damage.

"Tony."

In retrospect, grabbing Tony's shoulder had not been a good move. If Steve's reflexes had been less acute, if he did not possess the strength and size over Tony, that wild punch probably would have connected in a much more damaging capacity.

Deflecting the blow did not shock Tony out of whatever battle he was fighting. Steve honestly thought the man would back off the instant he saw who he had taken a swing at. Instead, Tony's eyes hardened, and he executed a roundhouse kick Steve never would have predicted from him. (Natasha or Clint, yes. Tony—well, obviously the man was learning from his sessions with Natasha.)

This was not blind anger. There was recognition in those eyes. Tony knew exactly who he was fighting, which made the manic attack all that much more confusing.

"Hey!" Steve protested. He avoided another kick and swept a fist away. Tony was definitely improving. "Can't we at least take this to the mats?"

Tony snarled and lashed out again, following when Steve danced around him. He was visibly tiring, a week not nearly enough time to build up the endurance necessary for this kind of activity, but he had the determination to make up for it. Steve was not sure that kind of determination was good for a man with a heart condition.

"Tony!" he tried again. "Slow down!"

The objection went ignored. Steve did not expect it to work, but he had to try. He also knew he was completely justified when he caught Tony's wrist, hooked a foot around an ankle, and brought the man flat to the floor. Tony's movements were too wild, more likely to cause himself harm than Steve, regardless of any of his fancy new moves. He needed to be stopped.

What Steve did not foresee—but perhaps he should have—was how Tony would react to being unexpectedly pinned beneath a larger body.

Tony exploded. The fit was violent and loud, and Steve would not soon forget the fear-tinged rage that assaulted him.

"_GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!_"

He was just startled enough to let go, which gave Tony the opening he needed to dig an elbow into Steve's ribcage and again into his chin.

It actually hurt quite a lot.

Even as Tony was scrambling to his feet, Steve rolled away, gingerly touching his jaw, glad to note that it was nothing more than a bruise, and holding his free hand up in the universal sign of surrender.

Tony shouted again, raging against some demon Steve could not see, turned, and attempted to put his fist through the heavily weighted punching bag. It rocked lazily on its chain, barely moved by Tony's wrath. For a moment, Tony relented, clinging to and leaning on the punching bag.

Steve rose, hesitating when Tony growled and struck the bag again, despite having no leverage in his close proximity. A few quiet seconds passed, and it seemed as though the worst had passed, but Steve was not stupid enough to approach from behind again. He inched into Tony's line of vision and waited until the man reluctantly pried his eyes open to fix his suspicious glare on Steve.

The anger faded, replaced by flat exhaustion, and Tony's eyes closed again with a sigh.

"What happened?" Steve asked.

He winced at the bluntness of his own question. When dealing with a wild animal, it was best to be unassuming. Tony was not an animal, and he usually seemed to respond better to frankness. Even so, the situation was unique in that Steve had never seen Tony fly into such a violent tantrum. The man was usually much more methodical in his replies, no matter how much anger lurked behind them. Steve did not know which approach was better.

He was lucky. Tony grunted and pushed away from the punching bag. He made his way toward the water jug in the corner, barely glancing when Steve followed.

"Nothing," Tony said, almost flippant in his manner. Steve knew better now. "A day filled with lawyers and social workers is like a spa day compared to the usual routine."

"Tony."

"Don't." Water in hand, Tony wheeled on Steve, glaring and angry. "I have had quite enough of people looking at me and wondering what the hell my problem is."

Steve was a bit offended by that accusation. Unlike the lawyers and police, Steve was one of the people who _did_ know the story.

"You didn't want to make this about personal vengeance," he said to remind Tony of his insider knowledge. Tony glared at him for it over his water bottle.

"Are we getting me back into semi-decent physical shape here, or is this a counseling session, Cap?"

"I'm not trying to shove you at a shrink, but have you spoken with _anyone_ about this, Tony?" Steve demanded.

Aside from this, the few times he had seen the man between business and bedtime, Tony had a drink in his hand. Tony wasn't drinking now, but he would be at the bottle as soon as this was over. Steve was sure of it. The man was notorious for internalizing his issues, and that was unacceptable. The Avengers needed Iron Man. They needed _Tony_. The did not need a drunkard, and Steve was not sure how to keep Tony from that path.

Bruce might stand a chance, but it was hard to say. Aside from Pepper, Bruce had seen Tony more than any of the rest of them. According to the other scientist, that was not saying much. The pair exercised every other morning, doing yoga for half an hour, and then Tony was gone. Bruce said they never spoke outside of basic instructions and practical advice—such as how _not_ to strain your back doing a downward facing dog. (Steve was tempted to join a session just to find out what a downward facing dog _was_.) Such as it was, Tony was obviously not opening up to one of the few people Steve thought might be best able to help him.

"What the hell would I say, Cap?" Tony snarled, clearly displeased with the line of questioning. With another man, Steve would worry about further violence. He was still a little concerned, considering the outburst a few moments ago. However, Tony's first response never had been to strike out physically. He would make a verbal attempt at taking Steve down a notch or two first. "This isn't something that happens every day. Have you ever tried talking about how fun it is being a forties man in the twenty-first century? Who do _you_ know who has that kind of perspective?"

Tony was off his game. Steve had been expecting something far more hurtful than that. He had an easy response for that question, and from the livid expression on the billionaire's face, he knew it.

"I talk to you about it." Tony's lip curled, a clear precursor to a snide response, so Steve cut him off. "I don't need you to understand, Tony. I just like knowing you're listening."

"How are you so damn sure I listen? I'm always working when you come to me with that shit."

Finally they were delving into mean spirited commentary. Steve was used to this by now. He was not sure that was a good thing, but he did know how to interpret this.

"Because you remember what you were doing when I came to you with that shit," he retorted.

It was not quite enough to pull Tony out of his anger, but it did throw a wet towel over his barbed tongue. The man's mouth snapped shut, and he glared as though Steve had somehow personally wronged him.

"Now, how about another run of it?" Steve offered. "This time on the mats."

The anger melted into suspicion. Tony followed him warily onto the wrestling mats. He looked convinced that Steve was trying to trick him into something. Steve would have liked the man to fold to the implied offer, but he knew better than to hold his breath in wait. For a man who lived in the spotlight, Tony was an intensely private individual when it came to anything regarding true emotions. While Steve suspected masculine pride to be a factor, he knew just enough about Tony to know something else made him fear any sort of intimacy. At least Steve was certain it was not related to the past couple of months. This kind of protective behavior had been in place long before Cassie Morgan had come into their lives.

When they faced off on the mats, Steve flashed a smile, a clear warning that he was going to strike. This was their first actual training session, Tony's other ones having been with Natasha, and, of course, his yoga sessions with Bruce. Regardless, Tony was excellent at reading people. He saw the smirk and was ducking long before Steve's punch reached him.

Tony was good at reading people, but he was not a natural fighter. Steve caught him on the backswing, and Tony went down like a sack of potatoes.

"I've got more than one arm, Tony," Steve reminded the groaning man. He caught a shift of movement and twisted just in time for Tony's foot to hit his thigh. It hurt—Tony wasn't pulling his blows—but not nearly as much as it would have had he not moved. He caught the vicious look and returned it with a disapproving frown. "That's fighting dirty."

"Whatever knocks the other guy down," Tony retorted, rolling back to his feet easily.

Steve could appreciate the simplicity of that principle, but it was a bad code of conduct for a reason.

"That might work for the short term, but you shouldn't rely on it," Steve advised.

He turned, shoved aside the fist which aimed for his jaw, and stepped into Tony's space. It took less than five seconds and as many movements to put Tony back on the floor, held flat by one hand at the base of his skull.

Tony probably could have thrown him off. It was a fairly simple hold. Instead, his movements had gone uncoordinated and angry. He slanted a venomous glare at Steve from the corner of his eye, the angle not allowing for much more.

Steve frowned and tightened his grip in Tony's hair almost to the point of pain. Tony hissed and scrabbled at Steve's fingers, his body curling toward that instinctive fetal position. It was probably more from displeasure than actual hurt. Steve had long since learned the extent of his own strength, and he was always careful with his friends.

"You'll make someone angry, and then they'll respond in kind," he said.

Point made, he released the other man and backed off. Tony grumbled and sat up, rubbing at his head moodily. He made no attempt to rise, his body language clearly announcing that he was finished. Still sitting, he planted his feet flat, arms braced on raised knees, hands hanging wearily between his legs. No way was Tony getting up quickly from that position.

That made this the shortest sparring session Steve had ever initiated.

Steve was always leery when Tony was in a pensive mood. No one ever knew how it would end. Considering how it had begun, Steve doubted they would soon find themselves out celebrating.

Despite his misgivings, he sat on the mat next to his friend and manfully resisted the urge to ask if Tony wanted to talk about it. The man either would or he wouldn't, and only when he was ready. Prompting him would probably result in more sharp comments and frustration.

Steve wondered what it said about him that he found Tony so much easier to handle now that he was back in his own body.

"Do you remember before?" Tony asked abruptly. Steve looked at him askance, not quite sure what he meant. Sighing impatiently, Tony added, "I read the reports, saw the before and afters. You were a little twerp and couldn't run half a mile without wheezing. Do you remember it?"

At first it seemed an odd question. Still, it had been posed in a serious manner and deserved a solemn response.

"I remember." Of course he remembered. More than half of his life had been lived as Tony so casually described it.

"You grew up with it," Tony remarked, and then he promptly echoed Steve's own thought. "Of course you remember. I remember being small, too."

Steve winced, but, again, it was not what he thought.

"I know," Tony said, smirking faintly. "Big guy like me. How could I ever have been anything but larger than life? But I was. I was just this kid, not even sixteen, hanging out with eighteen to twenty-year-olds. Big man on campus. I felt like a child."

"Fifteen?" Steve glanced at him curiously. "You _were_ a child."

"Yes," Tony agreed. He scratched at some invisible itch behind his ear and glanced away. "No one ever actually touched me. You know that? I got more shit from my _nannies_ than I ever got from kids that should have been pissed that some upstart preteen was showing them up in college level coursework."

There was probably a point to this. For all that Tony could ramble, Steve could not recall the last time he had ever said anything less than calculated out for maximum effect. At least, not while he was in good health.

"I got used to that," Tony murmured. "Being Tony Stark. I've seen you shake your head at me—don't think I don't notice when you do that—but there's a certain privilege that comes with being who I am."

"Rich?" Steve asked, more to see the smile it wrought than anything else. Tony had been serious far too long. It was not normal.

"Funny," Tony snorted. "Yes. But also influential. People know the name, know the power, and they don't dare give me any shit. Except Doom and your Hydra buddies, and don't even get me started on Loki, but we're talking normal people here. Super villains don't count."

Any humor he had found in thoughts of their greater foes drained away in an instant, leaving that expressionless exhaustion in its wake.

"So you can imagine my shock the first time Mrs. Morgan slapped me," Tony continued, voice going flat as he recalled his time spent in La Grande. "And when they shipped me off to Danny's farm to help _paint_ over the weekend…"

Tony had mentioned that name once. Only once. Steve knew who it was. A week was not nearly enough time to dampen the feelings of rage that instantly rose in Steve's gut when he heard that name. Somehow he managed to cool his temper, though he knew Tony noticed the cloud that passed over his expression. The other man did not remark on it.

"The thing about it? It's like it happened to someone else." Tony turned his hands, considering the broad and calloused palms. "I remember it—I remember all of it—but then I see myself in the mirror, and I know. It never really happened to me."

Steve looked at him incredulously. Tony caught the bewildered look and shrugged carelessly.

"Think about it, Cap," he reasoned. "Me. In my own body. Someone would have to be both incredibly sadistic and completely confident to try anything. Most of the guys we go up against would sooner throw me out a window—you'll recall Loki actually did, and I'm pretty sure Pepper has had some fantasies. But this other crap? That kind of shit happens in prison gang bangs and college hazing. I'm a forty-year-old man. Who the hell wants that?"

There was no good way to respond to that. Tony seemed not to expect it anyway. He grimaced and rubbed at his eyes. After this, Steve needed to make sure this man got some sleep.

"It's bizarre having these memories and not know where to put them. How do you even categorize that?"

It was strange, but Steve was pretty sure he understood what Tony was trying to say. The man had spent a month as a teenage girl—a sick, _pregnant_ teenage girl. Back in his own body, he had to reconcile the memories with a body that could not physically experience the things which had happened.

Unfortunately, Steve could think of nothing appropriate to say. There was nothing he _could_ say. This was not a commonplace situation. Steve would have been better able to conduct himself had someone _died_, which was unfortunate but true. That, at least, was a naturally occurring event.

"By the way, you might be interested to know that Daniel Porter is already behind bars and likely to remain there for a long time," Tony said abruptly, as if the past conversation had not happened. "He's implicating Mr. and Mrs. Morgan as well as Deputy Jansen. The Morgans probably won't stay in prison long—neglect and physical abuse are dicey even when they're documented—but Jansen's career is shot. He'll be run out of town if he's not arrested."

Steve was appalled. As far as he was concerned, all four should be put away for life.

"Can't more be done?" he demanded.

"I've ruined the lives of four people," Tony offered Steve an arched eyebrow. "What more do you want?"

"They _hurt_ you!"

That sounded much less dramatic in his head. Steve kind of wished he had not said it. Tony's amused glance told him the comment was as ridiculous as he had feared.

"The Hulk keeps putting Thor through walls in manly displays of triumph and we still haven't put him behind bars," Tony drawled. "That is actually far worse than anything Daddy Morgan did."

"And Mrs. Morgan?" Steve demanded.

"Well," Tony considered it. "I did find it rather offensive the day she decided my morning wakeup call would best be achieved by pulling me out of bed by my _hair_. Still not as bad as when Barton gave Romanov a bloody nose for stealing his favorite sweatshirt."

"That was an accident."

"Of course it was," Tony scoffed. "Barton gripes about the stains on his shirt to this day. His fault for starting that fight while she was _wearing_ the sweatshirt in question."

Steve was not sure what to say to this. What Tony was saying was horrible. Living with a bunch of superheroes could get a little hairy, it was true, but a child should always be safe in their parents' care.

"You should not be justifying their actions," he said finally.

"I'm not," Tony looked at him, that direct stare so utterly honest that, despite not understanding, Steve believed him. "Look, as much as I appreciate you defending my honor here, the point remains that the Morgans aren't a threat. The only person they ever hurt was Cassie—"

"And you."

"Who they believed to be their daughter," Tony continued without faltering. "And Jansen's shot as a police officer. He'll have a harder time getting a job than a convicted murderer on parole. My work is done."

That was not enough. Steve could not accept it, could not believe _Tony_ accepted it. These people were getting away with abuse and standing by silently while their daughter (_while Tony_) was suffering the unwanted advances of a man twice her (_his!_) size. It was disgusting.

"We should be doing more," he insisted. "It's not right when people like that go free."

"The justice system isn't perfect," Tony sighed.

He climbed stiffly to his feet and headed toward the door. Clearly, the sparring session was through, as well as their conversation. Steve hurried after him. He did not want it to end so unsatisfactorily.

Tony's sidelong glance told Steve the man saw straight through him.

"Maybe you're mixing signals. When I walk away, that means the heart-to-heart is over," Tony said bluntly.

"You don't really believe it never happened, do you?" Steve asked, purposefully ignoring the rebuff.

Tony stopped and turned to face him directly. He swept calculating eyes over Steve, as though considering a machine which needed fixing. Or a complete overhaul, as was more Tony's wont.

"I've said my piece, Captain Sharing is Caring," Tony said finally. "I appreciate that you're trying to help. It's nice. But I'm sick of crying on everyone's shoulder. Now, since subtle isn't working for you, here's the last thing I want to share for the moment: I'm going to go upstairs, shower, and go to bed. These are things I have been able to do without assistance since I was four. So unless something happens which requires the Avengers to assemble, you are welcome to leave me alone until I get up and have my morning coffee. Is that clear, or should I condense it into a few, monosyllabic words?"

While he disliked the thought of parting on such sour terms, Steve was quite familiar with this side of Stark. He had butted heads with the man enough times to know that pushing him now would only end badly.

Of course, there always had been something about Tony that brought out both the best and worst in Steve.

Ignoring Tony's bemused frown, Steve straightened and folded his hands behind his back, at military parade rest.

"Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

The shocked expression on Tony's face was worth it.

"Go fuck yourself, comedian," Tony grumbled. He put on a good show, but Steve caught the amused snort as he passed.

It would be some time, but Tony was going to get his head back in the game. Steve was not looking forward to whatever hell the man would go through to get there, but he knew it would happen. If anyone could bounce back from a mind-twisting experience as this, it would be Tony Stark.

* * *

There was a sense of mourning in the tower. It permeated the building and its inhabitants in a fog, strangling them into a familiar lassitude.

Thor had experienced this once before, on Asgard. When he thought his brother lost to the abyss and Midgard well out of his reach, he had struggled to find an equilibrium of sorrow and accomplishment.

It was true that Thor and Anthony Stark had never been particularly close. The human was arrogant and tossed metaphors about for which Thor had no point of reference. His saving grace, in Thor's eyes, was the selflessness he hid behind a mask of acerbic wit.

He was so similar to Loki that it hurt. He strutted about, proud and cocky, but beneath that armor he was just a man.

The terrible ordeal with Cassie and her foolish magic had done very little to change this. Stark still moved about like he was the ruler of this place, baring his teeth in false smiles that folded into haggard exhaustion when he thought no one would see.

It was the smile of a father, refusing to allow his children to see how much effort went into protecting them. The others were equally guilty, jesting and laughing when the mood was clearly melancholy. None of the people in this place were parents, and none of them yet children. Thor wondered if they even realized what stress their lies wrought.

As was the case with his brother, Thor was never quite certain how to handle Stark outside of easy banter. Such interactions were typically best handled by those more capable. Banner did well, as did Barton, and of course, the lovely Miss Potts.

Such was the misfortune that no one else was around that evening when Thor next encountered Stark.

The last time Thor had seen Stark, the man had guided the young Cassandra into the care of a woman Banner explained to be a Social Worker. Banner had also insisted the rest of them leave to allow Stark and Miss Potts the freedom to do their duties. Apparently the Social Worker found the Avengers intimidating.

Stark had been strong and proud in that moment. The trip home from the distant La Grande of Oregon had been intriguing, to say the least. If ever Thor doubted Stark's decency, the memory of the man holding that sad child's hand banished it.

The memory was difficult to maintain when Stark looked anything but decent that evening.

The hour was late, the others since sleeping, but Thor had done something to the phone Stark insisted belonged to him. He was attempting to determine what had caused the screen to go dark and was admittedly anxious about sharing this with anyone. Banner might help, but Barton would mock him, and the Captain was not much help in matters of technological origins. It should have been ideal that Stark would enter just as the frustration built to the point where Thor would sooner toss the wretched item from a window. However, such was not the case.

The man paused when he noticed he was not alone in the room. Thor had taken up momentary residence on the bench—the _sofa_—and Stark had not seen him until he finished pouring himself a drink and turned toward the room.

He looked awful. Thor had seen his friends in the aftermath of battle, bruised and bloody and exhausted. No one should look so downtrodden when not recovering from a beating.

"Ah…" Stark startled upon seeing Thor, spilling his drink as he did. "Shit! Jesus… Thor! What…?"

Setting aside the small communication device for another time, Thor rose to aid his friend. His friend who, as could be seen as Thor drew near, was already severely inebriated.

"I do not intend to startle you," Thor offered.

Stark gave an undignified snort and threw back what little drink remained in his glass. He seemed puzzled as for what to do after, so Thor took the glass and watched curiously when the man wandered aimlessly away. Setting the glass aside, Thor followed, relieved when Stark merely dropped down on the sofa with a weary groan.

"You seem unwell, my friend," Thor tried again. Previous offers of assistance had been met with irritability and disdain. Let it never be said that Thor could not learn. He had always been a direct man, but sometimes subtlety was useful. Perhaps he was not particularly adept at it, but he was willing to try.

"I… am well," Stark said. He measured his words with the care of a drunk attempting to hide his unsteady state. Thor knew this façade well from the feasts in Asgard where everyone was drunk and no one wanted to be the first to admit it. "Well is how I will _always_ be. Yes? Yes."

"Do you always answer your own questions?"

Stark pondered for a moment before smiling at him.

"Who else would?"

Such responses were not uncommon from this man, and no matter how cheerfully stated, they always left Thor feeling melancholy. The Avengers were a group of very lonely people. All of them were strong enough to live with it. Few of them were smart enough to realize they did not have to.

This was an irony even Thor did not miss when sitting with Stark.

"I can answer some of your questions," Thor told him.

Stark chuckled again and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. He needed sleep far more than he needed alcohol.

"I don't mean to sound like a dick here, Thor, but most of my questions even _Bruce_ can't answer," Stark retorted.

"And yet the one you recently answered, you did so incorrectly." Thor sat cautiously on the table beside the sofa, facing Stark. The table was a glass top, and while experience told him it would hold his weight, experience _also_ told him that it was breakable and that breaking items in Midgard was less than appropriate. "You are not always well."

"Well…" More laughter. Harsher, colder than the rocky terrain of Jotunheim. "Well why shouldn't I be _well_? Hmm? What reason do I have… to not be _well_?"

"I can think of many reasons," Thor admitted.

His drunk friend stared at him, mouth agape as though to speak but suddenly struck dumb. Thor thought perhaps it would be a good time to convince Stark his time would be best spent sleeping now.

"The hour is late, my friend," Thor started, rising. "Allow me to escort you to—"

"Thor."

It was not often that Stark initiated any physical contact beyond the lighthearted shoulder-pat or nudge of an elbow. Thor noticed this trait in many Midgardian men. Clasping another man's hand or arm was reserved for moments of necessity or cold business. So when Stark's eyes remained averted though his hand was tangled in Thor's cape, it made a certain amount of sense.

"Who am I?"

Thor frowned.

"You are Anthony Stark," he said bluntly. "Man of Iron, Avenger, and my friend."

When Stark looked at him, Thor was struck by a sense of familiarity. He recalled a time when he had felt equally lost, abandoned by all that he had once taken for granted as truth. Without the aid of Jane and Selvig, he would have been lost.

There was very little forethought in much of what Thor did, he would be the first to admit. Even at that moment, the only thought in his mind was that this was his friend—a brother in arms, and as much his family as any Asgardian—and that he could not sit idly by while Stark suffered.

Stark did seem a bit startled when Thor caught the back of his neck in one hand and grasped his shoulder in the other. Thor looked him in the eye, willing him to understand where Loki had not.

"You are, have always been, and will always be, Anthony Stark," Thor declared.

He let Stark search his face. All the man would ever find would be truth. From the looks of things, truth might not have been what Stark wanted.

"God, that's so awful," Stark whispered.

That said, Stark promptly tumbled forward into him. At this point, Thor was at a loss. He caught the man, of course, but after that he was not certain how to proceed. Taking Stark to his bed seemed the most logical course of action, but the man was still awake and clinging to the heavy red fabric of Thor's cape like a child.

Cautiously, Thor settled onto the sofa. He noted, with no small amount of bemusement, that Stark seemed to thwart his every move. He was, in fact, much like a toddler who knew that the best method of hindering the adult was to go utterly limp. Even Thor was not completely immune to this treatment. In the end, he decided it was an accomplishment that he kept Stark from falling off the sofa entirely. It was easier to simply allow the man to collapse against him in this drunken, semi-clingy manner.

"My friend," Thor ventured, setting a gentle hand on the dark head which had made its home in his lap. "Would you like me to fetch Banner?"

He would have suggested Miss Potts, but the hour _was_ late. The capable woman would be at home and asleep by now, Thor suspected.

Stark managed to open his eyes. He was not quite so successful in forcing his gaze to Thor, but he seemed lucid enough.

"I think I screwed up with Bruce. I don't even know what I was thinking. I shouldn't have… He's right. I'm too fucked in the head. No one wants that."

"You are not…" Thor did not quite understand what Stark was saying. It sounded much as though he had insulted himself quite thoroughly. "I still would like to be your friend, Anthony. I am certain Banner is of the same mind."

"Yeah…" Stark sighed and closed his eyes once more. "Thor…?"

"Yes?"

"Your phone's out of power. You need to charge it."

Thor could not contain his laughter, though he did manage to muffle it to a low chuckle. It seemed rude to dislodge the man who had made himself so at home on the sofa, using Thor's leg as a pillow.

"Thank you, my friend," he said. "Tomorrow, would you go over the particulars of the device with me once more?"

"Don't move, and I'll do just about anything you ask of me," Stark mumbled into his thigh.

Thor doubted the truth in that, but he was amenable to the request. It was almost charming, the way Stark curled into the stroke of Thor's palm over his hair.

"Sleep, my friend," Thor suggested.

It was unnecessary to say it. Stark had already sunk into the heavy, easy slumber of the inebriated. There was an afghan draped across the back of the sofa. Thor tugged it down until it fell around his sleeping companion. He doubted Stark would hold him to the oath of not moving, but Thor was a man of his word. Even if he had not given that word aloud.

* * *

**Notes**: Writing from Thor's perspective was exhausting. He's just... He's an alien _god_. Yeesh. Oh, and yes, in that little sparring session, Tony did, in fact, attempt to kick Steve in the crotch.


End file.
